


from the surface to the sea

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, character death (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: A seaside town, a stranded boy, a strange girl. When a freak storm hits the town, it sweeps Stiles away into a world like he never imagined.a stydia mermaid au





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Although I wrote this in response to a prompt from stydia-fanfiction, I had been planning to write a stydia mermaid au for some time. I was looking for something different from The Little Mermaid, and eventually found the perfect mermaid story to emulate - Lorali by Laura Dockrill. It's a really poignant and unique mermaid tale and I strongly recommend it.

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_Resolution_. The quality of being determined or resolute, the way my tapestry will soon determine who I truly am completely, who I am and who I was.

The rite is nearly complete. My lower half is iridescent. Lines of colour run up and down and cross my scales, shimmering where they criss-cross. It’s a unique pattern for a tapestry. Befitting the salvaged prince, they say.

And then orange flowers out of nowhere, interrupting the plaid pattern. The flower sinks like an anchor before it explodes in a shimmer of red and gold. Fire. An explosion. Leaving a symbol in its wake.

A sunken ship. _Liberty_. That’s where I died. But how?

More colours appear now, circles, swirling and looping around each other, in the colour of the rainbow oils on the waves’ surface. Like Carmine told me about. The ones she drew with her walker.

Walker. My tapestry explodes in colours again. Golden yellow and a light shade of red. Like the beach and…strawberries? Walker, walker, walker…

I wriggle out of the ceremonial wrap and head towards the surface. The petrified forest. I don’t know why but I swim towards it as fast as my tail propels me, like I’m being pulled by an invisible force. That’s where Carmine’s circles are. That’s where Iris will find me. Iris, who’s Iris? Is that’s Carmine’s walker? Did I know him? Iris will find me and tell _her_.

I need to find _her_ , not Iris, but I can’t remember who she is. She is the strawberries on my tapestry, the flowers, the undulating reds across my scales like a fiery wave. I close my eyes and try to recall my previous life. Who I was. Who _she_ was.

I can see the petrified forest. It’s underwater now, but I am close enough to the surface to see it is dark, and the stars are out. Stars. She loved the stars. Carved into the bark in the forest are the circles, like my tapestry shows. A beam of light sweeps across the water. The lighthouse. Iris. Scott.

Scott, Scott, _Scott_. I can picture his face. I knew Scott. And Scott knew _her_. The girl with the red hair and the strawberries - _it’s strawberry blonde_. Dancing. Under the stars. I squeeze my eyes shut and see her dancing. In the lighthouse. Her hair flying around her.

She turns around. A word slips into my mind.

_Lydia_.


	2. the pier

It was as if the sky was crying the tears he couldn’t bring himself to shed.

Rain was common in Beacon Villa, being a small town wedged between the sea and a distant ridge. Blue skies were seen as often as grey ones. But this storm was unprecedented. The wind whipped his hood off, baring his face to the torrent of cold rain. Each drop was like a small cold slap against his skin.

Stiles pulled his coat tighter around him and squinted through the curtain of rain. He could just make out the dark shape of the old pier up ahead.

He could hear the roofs of the huts along the beach flapping relentlessly, rattling and screaming least they get blown off. He though briefly about Scott, hoping his friend had the sensibility not to seek shelter in the scooter rental shack, which was closest to the sea front and the most likely structure to be blown to smithereens in this weather.

Scott. Thank whatever gods there were for Scott, who was probably the only person in this town who tuned in to the regional weather forecast. Weather in their town was often anomalous in the area - moody, eccentric and unpredictable, given their location, so most locals often ignored it. But Scott didn’t, and he heard enough about _fronts_ and _unusually low pressure_ to figure out that something was brewing out at sea which their town would get the brunt of.

Stiles, as he usually was this day of the year, had been sitting by a rocky outcrop along the beach, staring aimlessly out to sea, large styrofoam cup in one hand. On any other day he would have noticed his hot chocolate cooling down faster than normal. But today was not any other day.

Hot chocolate. It had been his mother’s favourite drink before she passed, the drink his father would prepare for them when they used to have day-long family picnics on the rocky beach, the drink they’d warm their stomachs with in the mornings when the air was still chilly. The one Stiles drowned his sorrows in after his mother’s passing, along with the salty sea breeze. His dad had preferred work and alcohol.

Like every anniversary after the first, Stiles had been drinking hot chocolate by the seafront, oblivious to the wind whipping up around him and his rapidly cooling drink when his phone beeped with Scott’s _**storm incoming. get shelter ASAP**_. His coat had nearly blown off when he stood up. The styrofoam had been ripped out of his hands some while ago.

He huddled in his jacket and pressed forward. The shadow of the pier loomed ahead of him. He could hear the planks creaking against one another and prayed the old wood would not tear off and smack him into oblivion, or collapse onto him when he finally got under it. It wasn’t ideal for shelter - that thing was older than his dad - but it was the closest and sturdiest structure Stiles had thought of.

The rain was so heavy that he could only start making out the details of wooden beams when he was just a few feet away. A series of pillars rose up from the water and sand, lining the slope of that section of the beach to hold up the walkway that extended to either side of him, each comprised of two beams arranged at right angles to one another. Stiles pressed himself into one of the corners.

The coat he wore today was thankfully somewhat water repellent, so his T-shirt was only slightly damp. His pants, however, were soaked through. His socks squelched in his shoes as he tried to move his frozen toes.

It was a while before he noticed the scraping.

Maybe it was the rain, clashing with the sea and the sand all around him, an endless torrent of white noise, drowning out all other sounds. Until now. Stiles was not sure how long he heard it before his brain actually registered that he was hearing a sound. It was long and grating, like barnacles grinding against the hull of a ship, or…rocks dragging across sand.

Stiles swallowed, pressed himself harder against the L-pillar and craned his neck. He had to squint in the rain, but he was pretty sure he saw movement just ten feet away. He jerked his head back at first, then rationalised that maybe it was an animal seeking shelter - someone’s dog, or maybe a turtle. The waves were crashing quite high against the shore - a turtle could have been washed up onto shore and was now probably scrambling around, disoriented. Scott would have braved the wind and rain to rescue the “poor thing”. His best friend just had a way with animals.

And then he heard the turtle sneeze.

Stiles froze (not that he wasn’t already half frozen, it was really cold). That was definitely _not_ a sea turtle.

Peering around the edge of the L-pillar again, Stiles caught a flash of red dart through the curtain of rain. It disappeared behind the wooden beam two pillars away. The sand at the base of the pillar shifted and _whoa_  - that looked very human-flesh-y.

_What if it’s a serial killer? What if it stalked him all the way across the beach? Or what if it’s the victim of a serial killer? What if it’s fatally injured and struggling to stay alive? What if it’s a normal person? A kid?_

Before he knew it, he had a a short piece of driftwood. It was long and flat unlike a baseball bat, but it had to do. He crept towards the pillar, slowly raising the wood over his shoulder. The sand ahead of him shifted again and Stiles stumbled back as an arm shot out.

“Oh my god…”

His eyes widened once he realised the words he let slip. _Crap crap crap_. His cover was blown. He tightened his grip on the piece of wood, bracing for the worse. The hand - now only five feet away - curled into a fist, then the other arm came into view, then slowly a head, then shoulders, then a torso and - _oh_.

The girl pushed her uncovered body up and stared at him, wide-eyed. Her lips trembled, trying to speak over the pouring rain. Stiles felt his hands drop the driftwood and his feet shuffle over, his mind still fixated on the girl’s eyes. Even with the storm whipping around them he could see they were bright green.

He found himself crouching down when he was two feet away. He recalled Scott talking about lowering your height when approaching animals so they felt more secure around you. Now that he was closer, he noticed the girl was shaking, and her moving lips were nearly blue. He leaned forward, straining to hear what she was saying.

“…c-cold…” she mumbled. And then her arms gave way and she collapsed on the sand in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new chapters are usually first posted at [raspberrylimonade](http://raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com/tagged/lorali-au) on tumblr so do follow me there!


	3. stowaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles brings the girl back to his house and notices her strange behaviour.

Stiles blinked once. Twice. Then he picked his shocked jaw up from the sand and quickly shrugged off his jacket. He rushed to the girl’s side and threw the piece of outerwear over her body.

“Are you okay?”

The girl whimpered in response, and even with his large jacket covering her, Stiles could still tell that she was shivering. He slowly placed his hands on where he guessed was her lower back, over his coat, and wrapped it around her body, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. He shifted to her side and gripped her waist, gently pulling her up into a sitting position.

Halfway through the girl seemed to catch on to what he was doing and tried to push herself up, but she fumbled and ended up falling backwards into Stiles, the thick material of his jacket trapped between their bodies.

Stiles gulped and pushed the material over the girl’s bare shoulders. He held the sleeves out for her.

“You want to put this on yourself or…?”

The girl looked at him over her shoulder, and something told Stiles she would take him up on the  _‘or’_ part of his question. He swallowed again and proceeded to help her into his coat, forcing himself to keep looking at her damp reddish-brown hair.

* * *

They huddled together under the relative shelter of the pier until the wind and rain became less menacing.

He was drenched, wrinkly and freezing by the time they got to his house. Even though the rain had subsided, it was not surprising that they did not run into any townsfolk along the way. The first reason was that Stiles’ house was quite close to the beach thus they didn’t have to go through the populated town center, and the second was that this was the worst storm the small town had experienced in a few years, and it was an unexpected one at that. Everyone had drawn their blinds and retreated into their homes. Those who weren’t at home would be waiting it out at their workplaces.

Like his dad. Hopefully he was holed up in the station and had not been on patrol when the storm hit.

The lack of human traffic meant Stiles had been able to lead the mysterious girl to his house without raising suspicions or getting questioned. Beacon Villa was a small town. Word spread quickly and easily.

He tugged at the girl’s elbow, telling her to “c’mon” while she eyed his neighbour’s small pool. Was she seriously thinking of going swimming in this weather?

“C’mon,” he tried again. “We need to get inside. The rain could get worse.”

He finally managed to pull her inside and once the door was shut he turned up the heat. For a few moments, they crouched before the heater, Stiles trying to warm himself up, the girl watching intently.

Stiles looked up to see a pair of bright green eyes fixed on him. The girl dropped her head, having been caught staring, and turned away. That lead to her eyes darting all over the living room, taking in every piece of furniture, every bit of ornament.

And then it was Stiles’ turn to study her.

Maybe it was just her thing, to take in every detail each time she entered someone’s living space. Perhaps she was interested in interior design, and liked to see how people furnished their homes. But there was something else glinting in her eyes. Something like…wonder. Fascination.

Like she was seeing everything for the first time.

It was probably ten minutes later when one of them moved. His clothes were still damp, but Stiles felt sufficiently thawed, so he tapped the girl on the shoulder, and stood up, gesturing towards the kitchen.

She understood his motions to _follow me_  and trailed after him, taking her time to check his place out, pausing here and there whenever she found something particularly interesting.

“Yeah, that’s our TV. It’s not flatscreen or anything. Nothing interesting about it.”

The girl followed him when he tapped her shoulder again. He showed her into the kitchen and offered her a seat - which she took without question, though wobbling slightly while doing so - before he ventured to the back to see if there was any warm, freshly laundered clothes for both of them. Sometimes his father settled the laundry before heading out for a late morning shift, but today was not one of those days.

Stiles’ stomach growled slightly. He had not had much of a breakfast apart from the hot chocolate. It then occured to him that the girl might want some food as well.

There was still a slice of the vanilla and raspberry cake Melissa - Scott’s mum - had brought over three days ago. Stiles forked off a piece for himself and turned to the girl waiting at the dining table.

“You wan’ somethin’ tha eat?” he asked, offering her the plate.

She looked confused, and glanced at him as if to say _that’s edible?_

“Vanilla spongecake,” he told her. “My friend’s mum made it.”

He placed the cake in front of the girl. _It’s all yours_. She stared at him, then the cake, then shrugged and picked up the fork, twirling it between shaky fingers until she found a comfortable grip.

She smacked her lips after two mouthfuls of cake, and Stiles chuckled. No one could resist Melissa’s baking.

Figuring that he would not be eating any more cake, Stiles grabbed and opened the garlic butter, leaving it on the table, then rummaged the cupboards for the sliced bread.

The sound of something scraping across the tabletop distracted him from his search and he twisted his head around to find an rather amusing sight.

The girl had finished the cake and slowly dragged the open butter jar towards herself, sniffing it like a curious dog. She stuck her finger into the jar, scooping out some of the spread. She then took her finger into her mouth, and her eyes went comically wide. She made a surprised “mm”, and eagerly went for another dip.

She ended up eating his butter right out of the jar.

“Uh, I take it you haven’t tried garlic butter before?” Stiles asked.

The girl looked up, startled, suddenly remembering she was not alone. She turned red as it settled on her that she had been watched, and hastened to replace the jar in her hands, clumsily screwing on the lid.

Stiles was by her side before he realised what he was doing. His hands closed over the girl’s, guiding her to screw the lid back on the butter jar. Her skin was cold under his touch, so he decided to brew some tea.

He brought her up to his room while the water boiled, and had to gently coax her to sit down on his bed. She finally did, but not without a scared expression on her face, as if there were lethal spikes under the covers instead of a soft mattress.

It was odd, but Stiles shrugged it off. Anyone would be uncomfortable in a random stranger’s house, although she had shaken her head when he had asked her where she lived. Still, if she didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t push her.

He opened his cupboard, skipping the T-shirts and searching for something thicker with long sleeves. He found a three-quarter sleeve raglan tee and a sweater which was probably Scott’s, and a pair of sweat pants. The sweat pants weren’t very thick, so he pulled out the largest, longest pair of socks he could find. Then he grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and threw in on the stack. He also found himself a new change of clothes: dry socks, track pants, dry underwear, another raglan, and a flannel. He dropped in another stack before carrying the first to the girl.

She stared at the pile in his arms as he approached, so he deposited them on the bed next to her.

“You can change into these. If you want more layers feel free to, uh, ransack my wardrobe, I guess. And you can set a warm bath if you want - bathroom’s next door. Or you could just change here, if that’s too much. Uh, I should probably get out if you wanna do that, right?”

He quickly removed the hand that was scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, um, I’ll go check on our tea,” he mumbled. Then he grabbed his pile of clothes and darted out of the room. The door swung shut behind him.

* * *

Stiles changed in the kitchen. He threw his damp clothes into a basket and set out to prepare two cups of hot tea.

He watched the clock as the tea brews and thought about what he was going to say when his father came home. _Hey dad, I rescued this girl from under the old pier. She doesn’t match any missing persons reports and is also kinda weird. Like everything here is alien to her._

He paused. Maybe she _was_ an alien, dropped off on the beach, acting like a damsel to bait someone - him - into bringing her into his home so she could survey human life.

What? He had a very imaginative mind.

Scott would have scoffed and said “Dude, it’s Beacon Villa. Why would they come here?”

To which Stiles would wave his arms and say “Why not?” and proceed to list all kinds of funny facts he’d pulled from the internet about their town.

Fragrance wafted to his nose, pulling him from his thoughts. He probably hadn’t been stirring for about a minute or two, but he figured the tea was ready. He gulped his down - water had still been dripping off his coat and the girl’s hair when they went upstairs and he didn’t trust himself to carry two cups up without dropping or spilling something or slipping.

He knocked on his bedroom door before reentering his room. “Can I come in?”

There was a soft “mmf!” from the other side.

He wasn’t very sure what that meant, so he called out “I’m coming in okay? Feel free to slam the door on me.”

He took two steps in, then quickly backed out, “I’m so sorry”s spilling from his lips.

“Wait.”

He stopped short of shutting the door. Counted to ten. Then peered in again.

The girl was sitting on his bed, just as she had been when he came back with the tea - wearing his raglan and _only_  the raglan. Sties blinked at her. “Me - you? You asked me to wait?”

The sweats he gave her was balled up in her small hands. She held it out, frowning. “I don’t - “ she mumbled. Her eyebrows furrowed even further, then she spoke again. “Can you help me with these?”

She looked up at him. Stiles stared back at her, frozen. She hadn’t spoken since he first saw her and her voice had put him in a bit of a shock.

“I can talk you know,” the girl said softly, dropping her hands. With the rain pounding against the roof and walls, her voice was almost a whisper, as if she were scared to make a sound. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

Stiles shook his head to get himself out of his stupor. He scrambled to the girl’s side and started rambling. “No, um, it’s ok. I just, heard your voice. For the first time. Since we got here, uh…” He gently pulled his sweats from her hands and picked up the boxers next to her.

“I’ll help you,” he told her. Then he took a deep breath and knelt in front of her. _Here goes_.

He tried not to think too much as he slid his boxers up the girl’s bare legs. He let out a relieved sigh once she was decently covered, and helping her into his sweats was easier after that. Then he passed her Scott’s sweater.

She fingered the hem of her t-shirt and cocked her head at him, as if confused as to why she needed to put on another top.

“It’ll make you warmer,” Stiles offered, wondering why she was questioning a sweater given the weather.

The girl accepted the sweater, and Stiles watched as she put it on, sliding her right arm in first - her fingers barely poked through the sleeve - before pulling the outerwear over her head, then wriggling until she finally got her left arm through. She left it bunched up above her stomach, and Stiles had to hesitantly reach out to pull it down so it covered her whole body. Finally, he crouched before her again and put his socks over her feet.

He got up and retrieved the teacup that he had miraculously shoved onto his desk without spillage. It was no longer freshly-brewed-hot, but there was still a small trail of steam rising out of the cup.

“Here, it’ll warm you up,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind chamomile.”

She took the cup from him by, well, cupping her hands, like she was scooping water from the sea or collecting it from a tap. She slowly brought the cup to her mouth. Stiles watched as she took a hesitant sip, then jumped when she suddenly gasped and dropped the cup. Fortunately it landed on his coat which had been resting at her feet and did not crack, although some tea ran off the material and into his floorboards.

Once Stiles had collected himself, he looked back at the girl, only to find her already staring at him, her green eyes wide enlarged in shock. Her breath was escaping her lips in small but audible, quick puffs.

“Hot,” was all she said.

“Well, that was the point,” Stiles mumbled. But still he apologised before clearing his coat and the offending cup.

The room fell into silence afterwards, the only sounds being the rain still pattering against the roof and walls and windows. Stiles pulled out his phone to occupy himself, and found two messages from Scott plus one missed call from the station.

**_where are you?_ **

**_tell me when you find shelter_ **

He quickly texted back. **_made it back home. wherr u?_**

He briefly wondered if he should mention the girl, but decided breaking the news over text is not a good idea. Instead, he keyed in his dad’s number and sent him a message to say he was safe and at home.

No one responded subsequently, and after ten minutes Stiles got restless. He spun around in his desk chair and spotted the girl, still on his bed, sitting in the same spot. One of her legs was folded in front of her as she tapped her fingers along her shin, but the other still hung off the edge of his bed. She looked up upon hearing the creak of his chair and having gotten her attention, Stiles waved his phone.

“Do you want me to play some music?” he asked.

Her reply was a cocked head, curios eyes following the trail of his phone. _Maybe she’s one of those people who still use really old phones with no functions besides calling or texting,_  he thought. He scrolled through his music until he found an album from an English band he heard on the radio once. Mellow vocals filled the room. The music was not too upbeat or loud, so as to not give the girl a shock, and also to fit the mood of such a gloomy day.

He queued more songs so that they would have music playing for a good hour after the entire album had been played. When he asked if the volume was fine, the girl merely nodded. It occured to Stiles that she had not spoken since he dressed her, even though they had established she could indeed speak. Maybe she was still in shock from whatever had her stranded at the beach. Maybe she was nervous being in an unfamiliar house.

Stiles dozed off before he could ponder further.

* * *

He woke up to find that it was _still_  raining - in fact, judging by the battering against his window, worse than it had been that morning.

He switched his desk lamp on and checked his phone - nearly 9pm. One message from Scott ( ** _i’m at lighthouse_** ) and one from his dad ( ** _I’m inside the station. Rain not good. Will be staying here tonight unless it lets up._** )

Obviously, it hasn’t let up.

The good news was he did not have to explain the girl yet.

The bad news was he was alone at home with a mysterious girl. Who could be an alien. Or a serial killer.

 _Maybe she’s just a normal girl_ , he imagined Scott’s voice in his head. Scott had this thing where he believed the best of other people.

He looked over his shoulder and found the girl in question now curled up across his bed, over the covers, facing away from him. As quietly as he could, Stiles got out of his chair and tiptoed over to his bed. Normally he was not the most graceful or stealthy person, but his thick socks masked the sound of his footsteps as he approached the small figure on his bed.

The even rise and fall of her chest indicated she was asleep. Still, Stiles leaned over the side of his bed to make sure. Yep, eyes shut tight, mouth slightly open. 

He manoeuvred her as gently as he could onto back her, sliding an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders. The girl stirred slightly, but did not wake up, and Stiles started slowly turning her body so she was lying vertically instead of across his bed, while also bringing her closer to his pillow. He trying to tuck it under her head when she blinked and pushed herself onto her elbows, head swivelling wildly to find her bearings.

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered when she squinted at him, retracting his hands. “It’s just me.”

The girl relaxed after a few seconds, and Stiles made to work his covers out from under her body.

“Um, I just thought you’d be more comfortable sleeping like that,” he explained once he got the covers free. He pulled them over the girl’s legs, figuring that she would adjust the covers as she deemed fit. Then he reached behind her head and pushed his pillow downwards so she could easily lie back on it.

He stepped back, and watched as the girl slowly took in his pillow and blanket, before finally lowering herself down. Stiles let out a breath he had not realised he was holding, and moved to his desk to turn out the lamp.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, just wake me up, yeah? So, good night - uh,” he paused, about to address her but realising he didn’t know what to call her. He swallowed and stepped towards the door. “Um, good night.”

He stepped out into the hallway, illuminated only be his phone now.

He was closing the door behind him when he heard her voice.

“Lydia,” she mumbled.

He stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Huh?”

The girl had lifted her head to look at him. “That’s my name,” she said softly. “Lydia.”

Stiles murmured her name once, testing it on his lips. Then he smiled at her. “Good night, Lydia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters are usually first posted on [my tumblr](http://raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com/tagged/lorali-au) so do follow there if you can!


	4. the lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott learns about Lydia, while Lydia meets someone who knows her secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like an eternity since I updated this. But I will not be the person who abandons my fics, you can count on that. What I originally planned for this chapter I later split into two chapters, so most of the first part is filler. The second is soon to come, though.
> 
> As always, you can find my as raspberrylimonade on tumblr or stlnskissmartin on twitter.

When Stiles awoke the next morning, the storm had reduced to a light patter.

He wondered if it had stopped raining at all. Normally, it should have, but something told him this particular rainfall was determined to be like no other.

Someone knocked on the door – again, which was why he had woken up in the first place. He started to get up from his spot on the couch when the door creaked open.

Stiles immediately flopped back down. It was only Scott. Scott had been his best friend since forever, and was soon to be his brother.

“Hey,” Scott greeted. Stiles waved a hand lazily.

“Did my mum come home last night?”

Stiles paused, then shook his head.

“Don’t think so.” He would have heard Melissa coming through the door. Then again, given the torrential rain he managed to sleep through, maybe not.

“Your dad?”

“Nope. Stayed at the station,” Stiles yawned and hauled himself into a sitting position. “Might’ve even if it weren’t raining like this.”

Scott nodded solemnly. He had known Stiles and the sheriff long enough to know they both had their different ways of dealing with the loss of Stiles’ mother.

“Okay,” he said softly. Then, “Why are you down here?”

Stiles froze.

Lydia.

He should check on her.

He pushed himself up, gathering the throw blanket he had taken for himself. His hands came up in front of him, imploring Scott not to ask to many questions.

Scott merely raised his eyebrows.

Wordlessly, Stiles headed up to his room. He knocked lightly, and when there was no response, carefully pushed his bedroom door open to peer inside.

His bed was empty.

“Stiles.”

Scott had moved down the hall. When Stiles looked at him, he tilted his head at the bathroom door. As Stiles moved to join him, the faint sound of water running fell on his ears.

Stiles rapped his knuckles on the door lightly.

“Lydia?”

He could feel Scott’s questioning gaze on his back. He was about to turn around and mouth a quick “I’ll explain later” when he heard her voice.

“Stiles?”

Her voice, for some reason, comforted him. For a moment, he felt like everything was well, like it was just a regular rainy morning and they were just two teenagers instead of a boy who’d brought a freezing girl with slightly strange behaviour back to his house.

“Can I come in?” he asked

He pressed his ear against the door until he heard her hum positively.

He wanted to back out as soon as he stepped in, for Lydia was sitting in the nearly-full bathtub, naked but for his boxers.

He knew retreating to the hallway would only raise more questions from Scott, though, so he closed the door behind him instead. With his gaze averted, he crossed the small space and reached to turn off the tap before the tub started overflowing. Then, he sat himself down on the floor. This way at least, the sides of the tub hid all but Lydia’s head and shoulders from his view.

Lydia sighed contentedly as she sloshed the water around in the tub. For a few long moments, Stiles simply watched her. He watched the way her eyes closed reverently, the corners of her lips pulling upwards. She looked so _at home_ in the water, even though she was just sitting in a small bathtub.

She looked up and her eyes met his, green on brown, and then she ducked her head, a faint blush powdering her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he told her. The softness in his voice surprised him. Scott was usually the gentle one, cooing at animals and little children, comforting people with touch or words.

Lydia looked up at him again, eyes wide and unsure.

“The rain has lightened up,” Stiles told her. “Will you be making your way home?”

Her face fell. Her hands stopped waving in the water and her gaze dropped. She did not have to say anything. Stiles suddenly felt as if the air had stilled and dropped about twenty degrees.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. And this time when Lydia’s eyes met his, they were questioning. _How can this be okay?_

It made Stiles wonder why she was alone under the pier.

He pushed the thought out of his mind. He had to focus on what to do with her.

“My friend Scott is here,” he said. “We will be taking a walk around town. You can come with us.”

Lydia stared at him, her expression shifting into something unreadable. At last, she ducked her head and mumbled a small “thank you”.

Stiles climbed to his feet, averting his eyes once again.

“I’ll bring you some new clothes to wear, yeah? Then we can head out.”

 

* * *

 

It had taken him roughly ten minutes to convince Scott that _yes, I brought a girl home, no it’s not_ like that _, her name is Lydia and she is a little quiet, definitely a little odd, but she doesn’t really want to go home so maybe, don’t push her?_

Scott eventually relented, and started describing some guy with a weird outfit who had visited the local seaside pub in the early morning.

As they walked, Stiles kept looking back to see Lydia trailing behind them, perhaps not wanting to intrude on their conversation. She had her head kept down, but turning from left to right as she continuously scanned their surroundings. He would slow down and gesture for her to walk next to him, and she would fall into step next to him, only to trail behind again. After the third of fourth time, Stiles brought his hand to rest lightly against her back, just beneath her shoulder blades. She did not jerk away from him. In fact, she leaned into his touch. Knowing she was right next to him made him feel a bit more secure, more certain.

The lighthouse stood at the end of a long stretch of beach on the quieter side of town that was interspersed with patches of dry grass. It was a relatively small structure, only four stories high, with a hut at the base. The beacon was rarely lit. If it were not for the fact that it was glowing warmly against the overcast sky, Stiles would have guessed it had broken down within the last few years.

The rain was a misty spray when they had left his house, but by the time they were shuffling through the door of the hut, it had gone back to a steady rainfall.

Derek Hale was in the small sitting room, where he usually was when the boys visited him. He grunted out his usual “ _Hello Scott_ ” and then his more begrudging “ _Stiles_ ” before looking up from the journal he was reading, and his gaze fell directly on Lydia, who had shuffled into the room behind them.

“You’re really here,” he said, voice low.

Lydia took a step back, half-hiding behind Stiles, but still peeking out at the young man.

Stiles held his hand out, shielding the short girl. “You know Lydia?”

Derek ignored his question, instead closing his book and rising to his feet.

“You should come in,” he said seriously, addressing Lydia. “I’ll prepare some tea. Then we need to talk.”

As Derek made his way into the small kitchen, Stiles turned to the girl behind him.

“Don’t let him scare you. He thinks he’s all grown and adult because he just turned twenty.”

“I heard that,” called Derek’s voice.

Stiles rolled his eyes. The hut was not big. The only way one could have a private conversation was if they climbed to the top of the lighthouse.

He led Lydia across the small living room to the window overlooking the sea. Lydia took a seat opposite the chair Derek had just vacated, and Stiles stood at the window, looking outwards while his mind was fixated on the mysterious girl.

She was not a local. That much was certain. Beacon Villa had a small populace. Everyone knew everyone, at least by face. They received visitors, but not this late in summer.

That Derek seemed to recognise her was unexpected, but provided a possible explanation. The man came from a large family of seafarers. Most of them died or were lost at sea after an accident a few years ago.

If Lydia came from a similar family, she might have seen very little of the land, thus her strange fascination with her surroundings. She could have been swept off her boat and under the pier (though that could not explain her lack of clothing when Stiles found her). She did not want to return to wherever she came from because, well, she did not know where that was, or if it was not already swallowed by the waves.

Suddenly, Stiles felt the urge to protect the girl. He wanted to hold her tightly in his arms and never let go. When he had lost his mother, he had his dad and Scott. Lydia was alone in a foreign town.

The soft voices behind him drew him out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Lydia, who was leaning towards the dresser Derek had against the wall. Scott was explaining to her about how he spent his last two summers helping Derek sort through old records and artefacts related to the sea. Many of those had been collected by or handed down through his family.

Lydia’s eyes drifted from the manuscripts Scott was sorting out to the framed images and parchments on the wall. Records and sketches made by sailors at during their travels. It solidified his theory about her having lived primarily at sea.

Lydia’s gaze moved to the other wall, similarly decorated with a bookshelf and more frames. Something she spotted made her brows furrow.

The clearing of a throat drew the three teenagers’ (well, Lydia’s age was unknown, but she appeared to be no older than Stiles and Scott were) eyes to the front of the room.

Derek placed a tray of ceramic mugs on his small table and offered one mug to Lydia. She eyed it carefully, as if remembering the beverage that had scalded her the night before.

Derek, somehow, understood her concern.

“It’s been cooled,” he assured her. Now that he had mentioned it, Stiles noticed that mug was not steaming like the others.

Lydia sipped her tea, this time not dropping the cup. Satisfied, she fixed her large green eyes on Derek.

“You’re Iris,” she stated.

Derek exhaled deeply.

“That’s what you call me, yes.” He turned to the bookshelf next to him and nodded at the photograph displayed on the far end. “She mentioned you were smart.”

 _She_ was the girl in the photograph. Stiles had only ever heard Derek speak about Paige once before, the loss of her a heavy weight sitting over the man’s heart.

“Wait, your name is _Iris_?” Scott cut in, confused. “Like, goddess of the rainbow?”

Stiles could not help the snort that escaped through his nose. Stoic, grumpy Derek was as far from rainbows as one could get.

The man in question was not amused.

“My name is Derek Hale,” he snapped, giving Scott and Stiles each a glare. Then he noticed Lydia, still watching him, and his expression softened. “Iris is just what her kind know me as.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to be confused.

“What do you mean her _kind?_ ” he asked, looking between Lydia and Derek.

Both lowered their heads. The hut was silent but for the sound of the tide rolling off the shore and the rain pattering on the roof.

Finally, Derek answered, his voice a murmur.

“The people under the sea.”

He lifted his head, but this time his eyes slid over Lydia to a drawing hung on the wall. It had faded throughout its years, but Stiles was close enough to make out its subject.

A woman, with long, blue-green hair that trailed down to the start of a slender, shimmering tail.

A mermaid.

A gasp caused Stiles to look down. Lydia was shaking slightly; whether shivering or trembling, he could not tell.

He dropped to his knees before her, gently removing her mug from her hands. They fell into her lap, and his eyes could not help but flicker towards her legs.

A _mermaid_.

The images of her struggling to walk the previous day flashed through his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Stiles replied almost immediately.

It was not okay. He had so many questions. Why was Lydia here? How did she have legs? What other creatures were there?

But Lydia’s breaths were becoming more and more shallow, the girl beginning to resemble how she was when Stiles found her under the pier. She was afraid.

Without thinking, Stiles took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs in circles over their backs. Slowly, Lydia’s breathing deepened and her trembling stopped. She lifted her eyes, locking onto Stiles’, grateful.

Derek’s cough shattered the moment. Stiles made sure to show his annoyance when his head snapped around. Wasn’t it obvious Lydia was uncomfortable with all this?

While Stiles was calming Lydia down, Derek had retrieved a leather-bound book from his bookshelf. It was flipped open to a marked page.

The man ignored Stiles’ glare and looked straight at Lydia.

“I could explain it to them,” he offered. “If you want.”

He sounded kind, gentle, unlike how Stiles had ever heard him speak.

Stiles turned back to Lydia, looking to see her answer. She looked at him, then Derek, then Scott, then their hands clasped together in her lap, then back to him.

At last, she nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime in between this chapter and the last, I realised that for a mermaid fic, this wouldn't feature anyone in mermaid form for most of the story. It WILL happen eventually... Remember, this is loosely based on Lorali by Laura Dockrill, so it's not your typical mermaid au.


	5. tale of the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek explains mermaids.

“It was not too long ago, in a town not too far from here.”

“That’s literally the opposite of ‘A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away’,” Stiles interrupted.

He was met with an annoyed glare from Derek and confused looks from Scott and Lydia.

“Have you people not seen Star Wars? Oh fine. I’ll raise my hand next time. Keep talking.”

* * *

_It was not too long ago, in a town not too far from Beacon Villa._

_It was a remarkable day. The sun was out. The sky was clear and blue. It was rare for this part of the coast, and the townsfolk had taken to the beach to celebrate. Boats and sails set out from the docks, racing each other and zipping through the calm waves. Everyone was out by the sea, everyone except one woman._

_This woman, one way or another, knew such weather was too good to be true, and she warned her lover not to take the sailboat out. But the other lady laughed her concerns off and said they should enjoy the sun while it lasted._

_Alas, something in the air shifted, and shortly after midday, clouds rolled in from the horizon, drenching the beach. Winds wept up strong waves that tossed boats about in the water. The morning sun had been replaced by a dark storm._

_The woman took her own little boat out, searching for her loved one, whose sails would have been easily ripped by the shear power of the wind. Even as the storm surged, she refused to head back to shore, the waves pushing her further and further out to sea until one crashed down upon her, drowning her and her little boat._

_Touched by the woman’s wisdom and persistence, the fishes surrounded her sinking body and imparted some of their characteristics to her. The woman awoke as Lorelei, the first mermaid, and future Queen of this part of the coast._

_Lorelei saw the drowned victims of the storm around her, although she, having reawakened as mermaid, had no more human memories and no longer recognised them. Still, she knew their bodies were unlikely to be found, and begged the fishes to save them as well. They obliged, and taught the new mermaids how to save others whom they felt deserved a second chance. This act came to be known as salvaging._

_When someone dies at sea, by accident or chance, the mermaids can choose to salvage them; to let them live again as a mermaid. The new mermaid becomes their descendant, with the one of salvaged them serving as a parent or mentor. While they may salvage more than one person in their lifetime, Lorelei only ever salvaged one other woman, who later succeeded her as Queen. The second Queen too, had a young mermaid under her wing._

* * *

 

“The Princess,” Derek finished, bowing his head for Lydia.

“ _Princess,_ ” Stiles echoed, his eyes transfixed on her.

Lydia squirmed under his gaze, not knowing what to make of the way he was looking at her. Her secret had just been exposed. She was not like him. She wasn’t human.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I should never have brought you into this. You must think I’m strange,” she said, voice small.

Stiles blinked rapidly. “No!” he exclaimed. “No, no I don’t – I mean, you acted a little funny at my house but that all makes sense and – no, no not like that. Uh, you’re not strange. I just think…you’re _cool_. Being a princess is cool.”

His face started turning red, and Lydia felt her cheeks heating up similarly. _Cool_. The word, from his mouth, left a peculiar feeling in her chest, like her heart was tripping over itself.

“But how are you here?” Stiles asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

Lydia bowed her head.

“She surfaced,” Derek answered for her. “It’s what they call it when mermaids rise to the surface and become human again. No one knows how it works. Some say only younger mermaids are strong enough to do it.”

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, and Lydia could see the ‘ _but why’_ forming on his lips but Scott spoke before he could.

“This…this is insane,” he said, looking extremely perplexed. When Lydia looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, his eyes were shifting between her and the floor. He thought she was insane. He couldn’t look at her.

“You’re the one always bitching that nothing happens in this town,” Stiles reminded him. Lydia grit her teeth to stifle her laugh.

Scott was not amused. “It’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Derek said solemnly. His eyes flickered to the girl in the picture, the girl who swam closer to shore than most dared to, just to see him. He had meant so much to her that she made every effort to find him when she remembered her human life, and, with that one glance, Lydia knew the girl meant a lot to Derek too.

“What was her name?” Lydia asked, pointing to the girl’s picture.

Derek smiled sadly. “Paige,” he said. “I know you know her as Carmine. It’s a nice name. A little stubborn. Suits her.”

He leaned over the arm of his chair to retrieve a thick book from the bookshelf and handed it to Lydia. Stiles and Scott both peered over her shoulders as she flipped the cover open. The concentric symbols were recognisable to Lydia, but not the boys, who both voiced their confusion.

“Those are mermaid runes,” Derek explained. “My mother used to study them in her free time. The ones recorded here are a little dated, and I’m guessing not from this region, but that is how I learnt. I knew enough about them to read the messages when Paige started leaving them in the petrified forest.”

There was an odd choking noise behind her.

“There is a _petrified forest?_ ” Scott squeaked.

Derek sighed. “It’s the dead reef. Well, the mer name for it. That’s how I got the name ‘Iris’ amongst the merpeople, because of the ship oil that always floats around, killing the reef. It is a sort of purgatory, an in-between place where humans and mermaids can meet. Any further out to sea, humans would drown. Any closer to land and the mermaids would surface.”

“And become human,” Stiles finished. He made a fist and shook it when Derek nodded. “Yes, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“But surfacing is dangerous and requires an immense amount of energy,” Derek continued. “I’ve heard of other mer communities where it is a punishment, because of the high risk. Mermaids rarely surface, and they usually only do so because of an extremely compelling memory.”

An extremely compelling memory. Of human life. Lydia sank into the cushions of the soft chair. She had no memories, and that was _why_ –

“But the story said mermaids cannot remember their human lives,” Scott pointed out.

“Not at first,” Derek said, and Lydia could feel him staring at the top of her head, as if trying to pry her mind open.

“The scales covering a mermaid’s tail are no ordinary fish scales. The mers call it a tapestry. When a mermaid reaches a year after being salvaged or, for those salvaged at a younger age, is about to turn seventeen, the scales change their colours and patterns. This is called the resolution, a sort of visual manifestation of coming of age. For mers of high status, it may be treated with fanfare.”

 _Resolution_. Lydia flinched at the word, which still brought a bad taste to her mouth. She hoped no one noticed her reaction.

Stiles’ hand falling on her shoulder indicated that he noticed. He was observant, she realised, always listening, always watching, taking in every little detail.

“Sometimes, the changing of the tapestry can trigger the recollection of human memories,” Derek went on. “They are never complete, but certain pieces can be extremely vivid, like Paige’s memories of me.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Lydia caught the movement in the top periphery of her vision. Something about the way Derek moved and spoke forced her to look up, even though she wanted to be looking anywhere but at him, at his probing dark eyes.

“What did your tapestry show, Lydia?” he asked, slowly and deliberately.

 _No no no. Not here. Not now._ The hut, which Lydia had earlier deemed cosy, was now too small.

“Lydia, when you left, the local stream went into a frenzy. They think you have been taken by pirates,” Derek pressed. “Your mother is really worried. Why did you surface?”

“Derek, I think she’s getting upset,” Stiles said, both hands now holding her shoulders.

But Derek ignored him. “Lydia,” he asked, “do you remember anything?”

No, no she didn’t. And with that the tears she did not realise she was holding back burst from her eyes.

* * *

 

A short trek from the lighthouse, was a low-lying rocky beach guarded on each side by two small cliffs that jutted out into the waters. Scott and Stiles had first met Derek when they were picking sea glass in the low tide. The tide was high now, in the evening, but there was still room for him to sit down a sniffling Lydia.

The cliffs gave them privacy – only the top of the lighthouse visible from where they were. Stiles valued this greatly in the moment. He felt a strange need to protect Lydia from prying eyes. He felt like she was not to be looked upon by just anyone. Funnily, no one outside of him, Scott and Derek had yet to see her. Even though she had walked through part of town with them, they were the only ones out and about, the town seemingly still on shut-down mode from the storm. Lydia was special, and he wanted to keep the knowledge of her to himself.

That was not just it, though. There was something Derek had said. Stiles had not been listening – he was more concerned about Lydia, who had nearly been hyperventilating – but he was pretty sure he heard something about pirates. That sounded ominous.

When he ushered a crying Lydia from the hut, Derek had called after them to ‘be careful’, but Stiles already knew. Lydia had to be kept secret.

He rolled the cuffs of his pants up then did the same for Lydia as the water rushed up to their feet. The rain seemed to have stop for the sunset. The clouds, while still omnipresent, letting rays of golden light hit the waters and dance between the rocks around them.

Stiles watched Lydia’s profile as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand, washing it in the lapping tide in between.

Eventually, her sniffling stopped. The ocean, it seemed, calmed her down.

“Feeling better?” Stiles asked.

Lydia nodded. She leaned down to wash her face with the seawater, rubbing the salt off on the sleeve of his shirt she wore. Now that he knew she was a mermaid (and if he spared a thought for himself, he would realise he was taking the news pretty well), he did not find the action as odd as it should have been.

She turned to him when she was done. “Do you know where the petrified forest is?”

Stiles paused before answering. He believed he knew what Derek was referring to: the old reef bay. The plants and the corals trapped oil from motorboats and the occasional small passing ship within the bay, thus why they were all dead.

“I think I do, yeah,” he told her.

“Please,” Lydia began, her voice pleading. “Don’t tell them about me.”

“I won’t,” Stiles promised, even before he figured out who _them_ meant. Other mermaids. She did not want him making contact with them.

Well, considering the fact that he had not known mermaids even existed until today, the mermaids were probably not keen on contacting him anyway.

“Can you…” she continued, fingers playing with the tips of her hair as she searched for the right words. “Can you ask Ir – Derek not to tell them I am here?”

The words slipped out of his mouth.

“As you wish, Ariel.”

“Ariel?” Lydia tilted her head, confused.

“The little mermaid. It’s a movie – a story – we have, about a mermaid who wants to be human. She has red hair, like you.”

Lydia looked down at her hair flowing over her shoulders. The sunset had given it a rosy glow.

“My hair isn’t very red,” she noted.

“No I guess not,” Stiles conceded, admiring her hair rather than scrutinizing it the way she was. “It’s more like…strawberry blonde.”

“Strawblair…strawberry? Strawberry blonde,” Lydia repeated, trying the words out on her tongue.

“Yeah, it’s like red, but it’s also golden. It’s really special. It shines when the light hits it right,” Stiles said. “Like right now.”

He saw the corners of her lips twitch upwards, almost into a smile. The simple fact alone made Stiles’ heart beat a little faster.

Lydia’s wide eyes scanned his face. “You think I’m special?”

_Yes. Yes, very. Special, beautiful, amazing…_

“I think you’re alright, Princess,” he said, chuckling at his own joke. Then he felt like slapping himself. _Alright?_ Who called a pretty girl _alright?_

Lydia was once again confused, but she merely shrugged and turned her head back to the front.

“Ariel…that’s a very nice name. I think it would be nice to be called ‘Ariel’,” she mused.

“Well, I think ‘Lydia’ is a nice name too,” Stiles offered. “And you never know, ‘Ariel’ could have been your human name.”

Immediately, he knew he had said something wrong. Lydia’s dreamy expression turned into a frown. Her shoulders slouched.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to – ”

“I don’t have any memories,” Lydia said quietly. Stiles almost could not hear her over the sound of the waves hitting the rocks.

“Then why did you surface?” he asked softly.

Lydia did not answer. She only stared straight ahead, out into the restless sea. The place she had left behind. Stiles pondered the possibility that she was homesick.

With the water rising up their calves, he asked, “Will you ever go back?”

Lydia shook her head. Her hand slipped into his.

“They cannot force me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't get it, Stiles is subtly comparing Lydia to Princess Leia whenever someone calls her 'princess'. They are both short, witty, strong, and in this story, princesses.
> 
> I also wrote Lydia's POV for the first time here. I don't feel 100% confident about how it turned out. For this fic, Stiles' POV comes much more naturally to me.
> 
> Also, this chapter has so much exposition and dialogue. I find writing dialogue-heavy scenes very tiring, as you have to find ways to split the spoken parts up. I made it up to myself by inserting lines from both Teen Wolf and the book that inspired this fic. And by writing that first part. The chapter was supposed to open with the story straightaway, but I couldn't help input Stiles' star wars commentary.
> 
> I've posted two chapters within the span of a week. This doesn't happen often for me. But there are a few reasons for this, the main being that these last two chapters were originally planned as just one chapter. I went on a long detour writing the first half, thus why I chose to split it. Another reason is that I am starting college next week and will be pretty busy, and after that will be working on one or two other fics (Eye Candy plus some prompts). As a result, this might not get updated for a while, so I decided to post this first.
> 
> Anyway, please do comment what you think about this fic so far. How do you find Scott and Derek? What is or is not interesting so far? You can also reach me on tumblr (raspberrylimonade) and twitter (@stlnskissmartin).


	6. the edge of worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys introduce Lydia to music and dance. Derek is a party pooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible for not updating this (or any of my multi-chapter works) regularly, but I swear I WILL finish this fic. Especially this one because I love mermaid Lydia. Even if she's not really a mermaid here. To make up for it, this chapter is like 3x as long as the other ones and has lots of stydia cuteness!
> 
> If you're still with me, I'm [raspberrylimonade](raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [stlnskissmartin](twitter.com/stlnskissmartin) on twitter.

Dinner went fairly smoothly, save for when Scott proclaimed his craving for fish and chips. Lydia had gasped and looked to be on the verge of another emotional breakdown. She refused to look at Scott until he left and returned with four vegetarian meals, plus a pair of his mother’s old silvery ballet flats that the girl quickly fell in love with.

Derek retired to his private quarters with a stern reminder to keep the place clean and tidy, looking at Stiles pointedly as he did so.

Lydia rolled her eyes as Stiles mocked his offense to an indifferent Scott, before picking at her salad.

“What is this called again?” she asked.

Stiles turned his head to see that she was twirling (yes, twirling between her fingers like she was straight out of The Little Mermaid movie) her fork, a strip of onion caught between two of its prongs.

“It’s red onion, Princess,” he answered.

Lydia ducked her head and blushed, face half-hidden behind a curtain of hair. “You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“Ignore him,” Scott told her. “I think it’s a Star Wars thing.”

“I’m impressed, Scotty.”

“What _is_ this Star Wars?” Lydia questioned. She was looking at Stiles with genuine curiosity, eyes wide and brows slightly furrowed.

Scott groaned as Stiles enthusiastically launched into an animated retelling of the plot.

* * *

 

The lighthouse was pretty much a showroom for all things vintage. Some of the manuscripts in the Hale family’s collection were extremely old of course, but even the furniture was dated, and the interior was fitted with exposed wooden beams to enhance the rustic look and feel.

The one piece of modern day life was Derek’s small speaker system, which Stiles was now trying to set up. It had taken him ten minutes to get over the crushing disappointment when he remembered that Derek did not have a television set in the lighthouse. No wonder the man was so grumpy all the time. He was holed up without any form of entertainment.

Lydia was browsing the lighthouse’s collection of manuscripts. Occasionally, Stiles would hear her ask Scott a question, or read out parts of text that were recorded in mermaid runes. Her soft, melodic voice brought a small smile to Stiles’ lips, a reaction he couldn’t explain, but did not mind. Every once in a while he would look over his shoulder and find Lydia holding a book open, or studying one of the framed documents, lips pursed in concentration.

His thoughts floated to what she was like as a mermaid. He imaged her hair swirling around her, buoyed by the waves, shimmering magically regardless of what little light penetrated the deep blue. He imagined her exploring her kingdom (was that what it was called? Since she had a royal status), arms outstretched, back arching gracefully as she dived and twisted in the water. And her tail - he wondered what her tail would look like, what colour, or colours it would be, whether it was bright and vivid like her hair, or soft and subtle, like her voice.

One thing he knew for sure, she must have been beautiful.

_She still is_ , he thought. Then he shook his head, turning it back from where he had been staring over his shoulder. He felt like some magma chamber had erupted under his skin, the heat rising up to his cheeks.

Stiles had never been the kind to get embarrassed about his reaction to girls. He was always open about what and who he found attractive. He has made a fool of himself in front of some pretty darn good-looking girls (and guys) before, but was not one to stop and think about it. There was something different, though, about the way Lydia drew his attention.  It felt more acute, more deep-set than a fantasy. He did not just want to be with her, did not just want to think about her. He wanted to... _know_ her.

He tried to focus on the set of small speakers before him. The cable jacks meant for connecting them were loosely bundled together, and Stiles silently thanked Derek for not being that person who threw all their cables around and let them tangle into a mess. He picked up one of the speakers, turning it over to figure out which port was to connect to the main dock.

Behind him, Lydia brought another manuscript to Scott’s attention.

“What does this say?” he heard her ask. “The...cry?”

“Scream,” Scott’s voice corrected. “The siren’s scream.”

A long silence followed. Stiles could almost feel Lydia’s shudder even without looking at her. The words sounded plenty ominous.

Finally, Lydia took a deep breath. “And what’s that?” she asked as she exhaled, voice noticeably low.

“It was a belief amongst some seafarers,” Scott began. “Back when...poaching was widespread. They believed older communities of mermaids had been extinguished, but there weren’t that many people at sea in those times, poachers or not. They thought that when a mermaid was in distress, it could scream so loudly that it would kill all its aggressors and every living creature in the vicinity. That a single mermaid’s dying scream could eliminate all the others.”

“Only mermaids?”

“I don’t know. The transcript specifically says ‘mermaid’. Not ‘merman’, or ‘merpeople’, or ‘merfolk’. But ‘mermaids’ sometimes refers to all merpeople collectively, so there is no way to be sure.” There was the shuffling of paper, and Stiles glanced away from his handiwork, peering over his shoulder again to see Scott leaning over a loose leaf manuscript in Lydia’s hands.

“It can’t be true,” Lydia mumbled. “Sirens are different from us. From the mer.”

_There are_ sirens _?_

“There are sirens?” Scott’s astonished voice echoed Stiles’ thoughts. The skinny boy connected the last audio jack, turning his body to the living room as the dock started up.

Scott looked in between the short girl and his best friend, mouth agape.

“It’s just, as far as we know, sirens and mermaids are the same thing,” he elaborated. “Sirens rarely come up in texts, and when they do, the word is used interchangeably with ‘mermaids’.”

He trailed off, and Lydia shrugged one shoulder. “They can and often disguise themselves as mermaids,” she said thoughtfully. “But they are _not_ like us.”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak. _Do they really lure people to their deaths? Is that why people like Derek never knew about them?_ But he was distracted by the digital chiming of the sound system next to him.

“Oh finally,” he muttered instead. He set his phone in the dock and opened his music library. Soon, the grand sound of horns and strings blasted through the small space.

“Oh my god,” Scott groaned. “Is that - ”

“Yup,” Stiles confirmed gleefully. “If we can’t watch Star Wars, we can at least appreciate it’s soundtrack.”

He let the theme play for a while before pulling up Cantina Band. Jumping to his feet, he did a goofy mime of the band playing. Scott let out a long-suffering sigh while Lydia pressed the back of a hand to her mouth. Stiles could still see the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. That alone made him grin, and the girl rolled her eyes in response.

He skipped between the tracks, explaining the different parts of the movies. The Imperial March. Princess Leia’s theme. The throne room. The Han and Leia score. The Ewoks. He played the Imperial March again, just because. Finally, Scott announced that he was going to put on some _real_ music.

“Don’t you dare, Scotty,” Stiles warned his friend. He pulled up the end credits right as Scott reached his position and started manhandling him away from the sound system.

Stiles complained as Scott deposited him on a cushioned stump stool next to Lydia’s chair. He whined when Scott stopped the end credits and replaced his phone in the dock. It was all half-hearted though. He knew he and Scott has similar music tastes, even having listened to the same preschool educational soundtracks as kids. It had been a big talking point when they first met.

He turned to Lydia, placing one hand on the arm of her chair.

“So, Princess, what do you think about human music?”

“It’s strange,” she answered. “Some of it sounds like the conch shells, but not really. There are some sounds like the whales too, but not exactly. Not to mention it is all above water, which is big factor.”

Stiles blinked at her. “You listen to _whales?_ ”

Lydia frowned at his incredulous tone. “What? You listen to _birds_.”

He was not sure if he should laugh or be confused. Mermaid music. Underwater acoustics. Whale noises. Whales singing. Did they sing at dawn and dusk too? What did other marine animals sound like? It was so weird to think about.

“Dude!” Scott’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “Remember the camping trip in seventh grade?”

Stiles perked up as he recognised the disco song that was playing. “Oh my god, we brought the cabin _down_.”

He turned to Lydia, head bobbing to the beat. “So we had this school camping trip once, and Scott and I were lucky to be assigned to one of the small A-huts - these triangle-shaped house thingies - which meant we got an entire small room with a bunk bed to ourselves. My dad gave me this old phone,” he waved his phone so Lydia understood, “with some old music on it, and Scott and I would dance to them every night.”

Scott shook his head. “We cleaned so many toilets because of it.”

“Worth it, though,” Stiles insisted, and high-fived his best friend. Then he waved his arms around, the same way he did those years ago in the small wooden hut without a care in the world.

However, his limbs were much longer now than they were when he was eleven, and he did not have someone (besides Scott, who was moving just as maniacally as he was) watching him in close proximity. Lydia pinched her brow and ducked when his flailing arms nearly smacked her, swatting them away with her hands. Stiles, however, had already lost all his inhibitions, and ignored the odd look she shot him, turning to grab her hands in his.

“Come on,” he cajoled, tugging at her arms. “Let’s dance!”

Lydia made no move to get up and join him. In fact, she leaned back in her seat, making it harder for Stiles to pull her to her feet.

The disco song had ended and some electropop song was starting. The groovy synthesizers fueled Stiles’ determination to dance with the girl.

“Come on, Lydia,” he said again. “Get off your cute little ass and dance with me now.”

Lydia’s brow was still furrowed, but her expression was now more amused than bewildered.

“That’s an interesting tactic,” she commented, still keeping her weight back.

“Well, is it working?” Stiles kept his brows raised as a challenge. Glancing down, he noted that Lydia’s feet had begun tapping to the music. She was _enjoying_ this. He grinned and resumed his tugging on her arms.

Finally, Lydia huffed and relaxed her body, allowing Stiles to pull her into the middle of the small living room. The back of his calves bumped into Derek’s small coffee table about three steps in, causing Stiles to stop in his tracks. That in turn made Lydia bump into him. She gave him an unimpressed look.

Stiles released one of her hands to rub his neck sheepishly. He angled his body to shove the offending furniture aside with his foot, a laughing Scott helping by pulling it aside.

When he turned back, Lydia was watching him, head tilted to one side. Her feet were still tapping along to the rhythm, but otherwise she was standing perfectly still.

“Dance!” he told her. He wiggled his hips to demonstrate and ignored Scott’s loud chortle behind him.

Lydia had looked down to follow his body movements. She attempted to copy him, shaking her hips hesitantly before looking up for his approval. Her knees had brushed against his as she moved, and Stiles was sudden hit with the realisation that they were standing _really_ close. Any closer and he would have grinded on her earlier.

Stiles felt his cheeks heat up, not because he had expanded any energy dancing whatsoever, and took a step back. Lydia was still looking at him, waiting for his comments.

“Well?” she inquired. She began to step forward, but Stiles’ arms shot out to stop her.

“Um yeah, t-that was a good start,” he stuttered out. He swallowed the sudden nervousness climbing up his throat, fully aware of his hands still on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “You just...you should have more space to move! You know…”

He dropped his hands to take hers again and swung their arms from side to side. Lydia relaxed after a few swings, and started bouncing up and down slightly. However, she kept her knees closed, as if her legs were still bound together in a fish tail, which restricted her movements.

Stiles started stepping from side to side with each swing of their arms. He exaggerated each step, letting his whole body feel the music. He probably looked ridiculous, but he figured it was the best way to get Lydia to let go completely and enjoy herself. He gave her an encouraging smile as she took small steps to mirror him. Gradually, her body started swaying to the beat, and Stiles felt his chest expand when he saw the corner of her lips begin to pull upwards.

Feeling bold, Stiles lifted one arm while reaching for Lydia’s waist with the other. He maneuvered to the side while guiding her to turn under their lifted arms. She gasped as she spun around, and was looking around in confusion when they were facing each other again.

Then her eyes widened slightly. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ as she looked up at Stiles with the realisation of what they had just done, and the small ‘o’ stretched into a genuine smile.

They lost track of time after that, getting caught up in dancing with and around each other. Song after song passed, and Lydia’s face had split into a wide grin. Wisps of hair were plastered to her forehead, the rest falling in front of her shoulders to frame her flushed cheeks.

Stiles was vaguely aware that Scott had disappeared two songs ago to ‘get water’ and was yet to return, and yeah, they were panting and should probably get hydrated. But Lydia was standing in front of him looking like _that_ , and Stiles found himself wondering if mermaids and sirens were that different after all, since he couldn’t help but want to move closer to her.

He heard the opening drumming pattern of the next song, before a series of riffs came in with a slower tempo. Lydia, noting a different type of music, stood still and fixed him with a questioning gaze.

Stiles nodded as he took her hands in his again. “We can dance to this too,” he told her. “It’s called slow dancing.”

He did not swing his arms around this time, let them hang by his sides, keeping only his forearms raised so their hands were at hip level. This brought Lydia closer to him as a result.

“That’s literal,” she said, swaying gently to the beat. Then, “how did you know what I wanted to ask?”

“I dunno, maybe we have some kind of connection?” Stiles replied. “Unspoken, of course.”

He lifted one pair of their hands above their heads, and Lydia turned underneath without further prompting. His free hand found her hip when she faced him again, which led to her forearm running parallel to his. He felt her fingers wrap around his arm, just above the elbow. Soon, that position was mirrored with their other arms.

With Lydia standing so much closer to him, Stiles could almost see over the top of her head. He was surprised to see the dark windows behind her, and realised they had begun turning in a circle as they swayed from side to side. Something tickled his chin, and Stiles looked down to find Lydia smiling serenely at him. She had moved even closer than before, her hands now on his shoulders.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. The last time their faces had been this close, he was holding her shivering form to his side, asking how she was as a deluge poured down on them and she answered only with wild eyes and a tightening clutch on his shoulders as they tried to find his house. This time, there was no downpour blurring Lydia’s features - the curl of her lashes, the light freckles on her cheeks, the soft and inviting pink of her lips -

He was unaware that he had momentarily frozen until Lydia tripped over his unmoving feet, causing both of them to stumble. Once they regained their footing, still holding on to each other, Stiles leaned back to see her head dropped in frustration and embarrassment, bottom lip between her teeth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I must look like a fool,” Lydia muttered without looking up.

He had meant to say something reassuring and/or self-depreciatory, like _it’s okay, I’m not the best dancer to begin with_ , but the following words slipped out of his mouth instead:

“I think you look beautiful.”

It was true, he realised. He did find her beautiful. She was beautiful. Even when she was shivering under the pier, her wet hair a dull mess sticking to her fair skin, even when she was casting those emerald eyes about his house in unabashed curiosity, even now, swamped in his oversized clothes, the diffused lighting throwing her face into soft relief.

“Really?”

Her voice had gone softer, even for her, and Stiles found his heart sighing in his chest. She was looking up at him now with her big green eyes, filled with genuine surprise and earnesty, trapping his own brown ones in her gaze. He could only nod. _Yes, really_.

She _beamed_ at him, preening happily, one hand expertly flicking her hair over her shoulder before her arms were winding around his neck. Stiles was positive that in that moment, she literally radiated light.

* * *

 

Stiles woke the next morning with a stiff neck and aching shoulders. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was - slumped in Derek’s single small armchair.

Whenever he and Scott slept over at the lighthouse, they were usually in sleeping bags, on the relatively soft sand of the beach. As it was, last night had been too cold to sleep outside, and Stiles had offered Lydia his sleeping bag. She and Scott got to enjoy the comfort of Derek’s floorboards while Stiles made himself home on the old, stiff armchair that Lydia had sat in the day before.

He was pretty sure he fell asleep reclined against the cushioned backrest, but now his body was cramped on one side, his head dangling over the left armrest as was his left arm. His legs were sprawled over the other side while his right arms was squashed between his body and the backrest.

As he made to sit up, the hand that was hanging close to the floor brushed against something. Stiles blinked and peered over the edge of the seat. Lydia was on the floor, laying on her stomach over the sleeping bag. Her hands were folded in front of her chin. His fingers must have brushed over hers as he adjusted in the chair.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled.

“You’re observant,” she quipped.

Stiles squinted and glanced beyond her shoulder. The second sleeping bag was rolled up and resting above a folded blanket.

“Where’s Scott?” he asked, sleep still coating his voice.

On cue, Scott and Derek emerged from the kitchen. Stiles raised an arm lazily, but dropped it when he spied their shared grim expressions. He stilled, then sat up straight, suddenly wide awake.

“I have bad news,” Derek announced.

_When do you have good news?_ Stiles wanted to say, but Derek looked more dour than usual, and Stiles kept his mouth shut in fear.

Derek moved into the living room and knelt on the floor in front of Lydia, who had also sat up straight.

“Your mother has made contact with other surfacers,” he whispered. Lydia’s back was to Stiles, but he noticed her stiffen.

“Don’t be surprised,” Derek said in response to her reaction. “You knew they existed. You knew there were ones before you.”

“They are looking for me,” she whispered.

Derek nodded grimly. His gaze dropped to the floor, no longer looking at Lydia.

“What did you tell them?” Lydia questioned harshly.

Derek cleared his throat, but did not answer. It was Scott who answered Lydia’s question.

“He hasn’t told them about you yet,” he assured her. “He couldn’t.”

Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Why not?”

“They are not the only ones looking for you,” Derek said. “When Queen Lily contacted the surfacers, there were...others who caught wind of the missing princess. Poachers.”

Lydia pulled her legs into her body, curling up at the word. Stiles quickly slid off the chair so he was next to her on the floor, placing one hand on her shoulder. She leaned into his touch.

“They are _coming_ for me.”

“They are already here,” Scott corrected. He turned to Stiles. “Remember the guy I told you about yesterday?”

“The one who dressed weird,” Stiles recalled. “Like a pirate.”

“Because they _are_ , in a way, pirates,” Derek explained. “But it’s not treasure they’re after.” His eyes drifted over Lydia’s form. Stiles shuddered as he understood the implication.

“Scott tells me he saw another one when he was getting dinner yesterday,” Derek went on. “And someone was following me this morning on the beach. That makes at least three of them. We don’t know if they came together, but I don’t want to wait around and find out. If they know who I am, then the lighthouse isn’t safe for you anymore.”

“We need to hide,” Stiles concluded.


	7. the sea full of stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys help Lydia move to a new hideout, where Lydia finally opens up to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter is so cute. You people ain't ready. When I was writing it I was thinking "Is this too fast? Too sudden? Is there enough buildup?" In the book that inspired a lot of this story, the two main characters made out here and I love that, I love them, but it wouldn't work for stydia.
> 
> As always, I am [raspberrylimonade](raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [stlnskissmartin](twitter.com/stlnskissmartin) on twitter.

The sky was still grey when they left the lighthouse, light rain scattering around them like mist, but by the time they made it to the other end of town, rays of light were poking through the clouds.

Stiles knew better than to think the sun would last for long. Such was the weather this close to the sea and this far north, temperamental and always changing. And he was fine with it. His foul mood was more akin to the dreary weather the region was known for at this time of year.

He hunkered down into his jacket, grateful for the fleece lining. The sun was out but it was still a cold sun. The wind was still coming in from the sea. He wished he’d put on an extra layer of pants.

He heard the crunching of sand behind him and turn around to find Scott approaching, hair beautifully windswept.

“Seems to be clear,” he said.

Stiles nodded, giving the area one last sweeping glance. “Guess Derek was on to something when he decided to be a reclusive hermit.”

They were standing atop what Stiles guessed was a sand dune, covered with long, straw-like grass that swayed in the wind, white sand sliding around at their roots. It was a nice place, he realised, a short trek to the shoreline, the bluffs just about a mile inland. Quiet, tranquil, contemplative. If only he was in a better headspace.

Scott, perceptive as always, tilted his head and asked, “You okay, man?”

Stiles sighed heavily. He looked back to the black car not too far away. He could almost make out Lydia’s shadow in the back window. She was supposed to lay low - literally - and keep herself out of view, but it didn’t surprise him that she would risk a peek. Her inquisitive nature was endearing, and he almost smiled.

He fought against it and turned back to Scott. “I don’t like how she’s not telling us everything,” he said.

“She’s only been here for two days,” Scott reminded him. “Maybe she’s just not ready to tell you everything.”

“Yeah but whatever she’s not telling us...it could be important.”

Scott blinked. “How so?”

Stiles huffed and gestured his arms aimlessly. “Something just doesn’t fit. She told me she doesn’t remember anything about being human. She has no ties to this world. So why would she surface? Why leave the sea?”

“Curiosity?” Scott suggested. “You know, like _The Little Mermaid._ ”

He ignored the incredulous look Stiles gave him.

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who has noticed the resemblance,” he continued, punching Stiles’ arm lightly. “I see the way you look at her.”

Stiles scoffed and turned away, walking back to the car.

“I don’t look at Lydia in any way,” he said weakly. “I can’t. Especially if - ”

The words caught in his throat, fighting against being spoken. Stiles sighed again, dropping his head. It pained him to even _think_ it.

“If what?” Scott asked, falling into step next to him.

“I don’t know for sure if we can trust her,” Stiles whispered, even though there was no one around to overhear.

He glanced up at the car, and his conversation with Lydia that morning flashed through his mind.

* * *

 

It happened when they were preparing to leave the lighthouse. Scott had gone to drive Stiles’ jeep over while Derek was doing the same for his car (why he insisted on parking it in a public lot a good 5-10 minutes walk from his own abode when he could leave it right at his doorstep, no one knew.) Stiles and Lydia were left to gather some food from Derek’s kitchen.

“That’s arugula,” Stiles told Lydia. “I hate it, but you can take some if you want to try.”

Lydia sniffed - actually brought the bundle of leaves up to her nose to smell - then shrugged and handed the arugula to Stiles. He had taken to telling her the names of different foods and items Derek had in his kitchen.

“So uh,” Stiles began. “What were you going to do when you surfaced? You know, before you got caught in a wild storm and became a wanted person.”

Lydia stood braced against the counter, profile facing Stiles, but he still noticed when she winced at his words.

“I mean, you know, before people started looking for you,” he corrected quickly.

Lydia remained silent, staring at her hands. Stiles placed the bag of collected food items down on the countertop and took a step towards her.

“There must be things you want to do here,” he persisted.

“I don’t know,” Lydia replied in a small voice, still not looking at him.

Stiles frowned. “You can’t just have surfaced for no reason.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia mumbled. “When are Scott and Derek getting back?”

Stiles took another step towards her, reaching out to cover one of her hands with his.

“You can’t hide forever,” he told her. “Why would your mother send people to look for you? Does she know why you surfaced?”

He already knew the answer, but Lydia’s silence confirmed it. “Why are you here, Lydia?” he tried.

“I don’t know,” she repeated.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Stiles questioned. When Lydia gave no response, he huffed in exasperation. “Not that I know anything about being a mermaid - merman, whatever, but people don’t do drastic things like surfacing just for the sake of it.”

He waved his arms as spoke, as Lydia cowered away as he got too close to accidentally backhanding her.

“So loud,” she whimpered.

Stiles paused. He had not realised he had raised his voice. He immediately took a step back and apologised.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice gentle.

“No, it’s fine,” Lydia told him. She pushed away from the counter and made her way back towards Derek’s living room. Her voice was tremulous, as if she were going to cry, and Stiles felt a pang of guilt in his chest. _He_ had made her feel that way.

But Lydia’s behaviour and refusal to answer any questions were raising too many questions in his head.

“I want to help you, Lydia, believe me. But I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on,” he called after her.

Lydia paused in the entryway, keeping her back to him. Her back was stiff though her hands were shaking slightly, and she took a few deep breaths before she spoke.

“What do you want to know, Stiles? Derek already told you my whole life story.”

“Why did you surface, Lydia?” he asked again.

He watched her shoulders lift as she inhaled a shaky breath, and for a moment he thought she was finally going to tell him, but then Lydia sighed defeatedly and disappeared through the entryway, leaving Stiles alone and confused.

* * *

 

Derek had insisted they take his sedan. Stiles’ old, blue jeep stood out too much. They - specifically Lydia - needed to keep a low profile. So, the boys and Lydia had taken the man’s unassuming black car while Derek drove Stiles’ jeep to the station to report the poachers who had been following him. Stiles despised the idea of _Derek_ of all people driving his jeep. He couldn’t imagine Derek having the gentle care necessary to maintain such an old vehicle. He would rip the steering wheel off, or slam the door too hard. Deep down, though, Stiles knew it was the best plan. The jeep _was_ pretty easy to spot, too easy to follow.

The uncomfortable fact that Derek was driving his jeep without supervision had been the last thing on Stiles’ mind during the drive across town, however. His thoughts had been consumed with Lydia, and her unknown intentions.

The more he’d thought about it, the more he realised he did not know about her. Stiles was wary of things he did not know.

“Isn’t it strange?” he asked Scott. “She just upped and left. No plans, no goodbye message, she doesn’t want to even try letting anyone know she’s okay. People only do that when they are running from something. That something can’t be good.”

Scott merely shrugged, and Stiles ceased voicing his concerns as they neared the car. He forced himself not to look at Lydia as he rounded the front and climbed into the passenger seat.

Scott had no such qualms, and twisted his body to look at Lydia in the backseat. “We’re just gonna drive up a little closer,” explained, before starting the car. Derek had been adamant about Scott being the driver. How unfair.

The small hut apparently belonged to Derek’s younger sister, but she had left it in his care when she decided to move to a different town. Derek himself never used it, only stopping by every few months to check on its condition. The grass surrounding the hut was thicker than the area Scott and Stiles had surveyed, so Scott parked about a hundred feet away and they got out of the car.

Stiles instinctively reached for Lydia as the trio trekked towards the hut, then jerked his elbow back at the last minute and his fingers grasped thin air. He exhaled slowly, unsure if he should touch her, if she wanted him to touch her, if he wanted to touch her.

Lydia watched Stiles’ hand drift away from her. The boy didn’t even turn back to look at her, letting her trail behind him the way she tended to. Only the day before, as they walked to the lighthouse, he would always turn around and gesture for her to walk next to him. She would fall into step beside him, and as he went back to chatting with Scott, his hand would come around to rest on the small of her back, a comforting presence in the strange new world.

She followed behind them now, both boys quiet. She had seen the way Stiles watched her since they left the lighthouse - when he even looked at her, that was. Stern eyes that looked like they would crack her open and unravel her insides like secrets to be exposed.

She nearly walked into him, and only then noticed that they had stopped in front of the hut and both boys were looking at her.

“I asked how long you think you’ll need to stay here,” Scott told her as his hands searched his pockets for the key.

“I - I don’t know,” she stammered, turning to her feet. She could hear Stiles’ voice in her head. _You can’t hide forever._ He’d meant it kindly, but in her head his voice was twisted into something cold and condescending.

Next to her, Stiles let out a short puff of breath, and Lydia could almost hear the _I told you so_.

“ _Don’t,_ Stiles,” she warned him. “I know what you’re thinking, you don’t have to - ”

“I don’t know what to think because you won’t tell me anything, Lydia,” he retorted.

“What do you want me to say?” Lydia pleaded. “I already told you everything I could.”

“No, _Derek_ told us your story, remember?” Stiles said, his voice dangerously low.

“Then what do you not understand?”

There was the metallic sound of keys in the lock, and Scott’s voice announcing that the door was open, but that hardly made a dent in the growing tension in the air.

“Why did you leave?” Stiles answered with the same question he had been pursuing the whole day. He threw his hands in the air. “Why are all these people after you? Did something happen? Did you do something?”

“Maybe we should go inside…” Scott tried. He was looking back and forth between his best friend and the girl, stunned at the argument that had broken out.

“No. Nothing happened,” Lydia choked out.

“Then why are you acting like a fugitive?” Stiles persisted. “Why hide from the other surfacers too? You said they can’t make you go back so why not tell them to tell your mother to stop worrying about you then they can all go away?”

“You don’t know anything about my mother, Stiles!”

“Or you know, we could use them to head off the poachers. They won’t look in one place too long, will they? I mean, if they want to collect mermaid scales, they won’t find much here.”

“It’s not so simple - ”

“Right, because you’re the princess. All the more reason for your people to be concerned - ”

“Stop calling me that!” Lydia yelled. “I’m not a princess! I’m not even a real mermaid!”

She sucked in a sharp breath and stared at him, eyes wide, lips trembling, as if she couldn’t believe the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth. Then she pushed past the two boys and stalked into the hut.

The door slamming shut snapped Stiles out of his shock, and he started after Lydia not a second later, but something tugged on his elbow, holding him back.

“Don’t,” Scott said emphatically. “Give her space.”

Stiles gave the hut a once over, and turned back to Scott. It was pretty obvious from the exterior that it only had one room. Not exactly a lot of space.

“Guess I’ll wait in the car,” he mumbled.

* * *

 

It was dark when Stiles finally dared venture into the hut.

He was getting hungry, and he hoped Derek hadn’t forgotten that his property did not have a kitchenette and left them with pre-cooked food. It was also getting chilly in the car, and then man would probably murder Stiles if he left the engine on for a whole night.

The lights in the hut hadn’t been turned on, and Stiles wanted to think it had lights (Derek was really low maintenance, so he honestly did not know what to expect of this place) so he assumed Lydia had fallen asleep. He did not expect to her sniffling as he opened the door.

“Lydia?” he called out, feeling around for the (possibly non-existent) switch. He felt a knob on the wall, and pushed it to no avail. So maybe the place had lights but they could be no longer working.

“Go away!” a voice cried.

Stiles finally found the right way to twist the knob and a warm yellow light filled the small space. He blinked a few times before he spotted her. She was sitting on the bed - well, it was just a mattress pushed into a corner, just across the room from him. Her back was pressed into the edge where the two walls met and her legs were pulled towards her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, though he already knew. Scott always said he was too suspicious of people, and today he had let that overcome him. He had pushed her too far, into a corner where she was now curled up and crying.

Lydia rubbed her nose as she sniffed again then hid her face between her knees. “I don’t need you seeing me cry!”

“You shouldn’t care about people seeing you cry,” Stiles responded immediately. His mother had said the same words to him as a child, telling him crying was normal, that it wasn’t wrong, that sometimes people just needed to cry.

And then, for reasons unknown, he added, “Especially you.”

“Why?” Lydia gasped. She was looking at him now, eyebrows pulled together, eyes puffy, nose running, but -

“I think you look really beautiful when you cry,” Stiles blurted out. The sincerity in his voice surprised him. As Lydia scoffed and ducked her head however, he realised he meant what he’d said.

He placed the bag of food on the floor and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “You weren’t ready to tell us everything, and I should have respected that. I went too far.”

Lydia shook her head. “No, you had the right to ask,” she said with a small hiccup. “You’ve already done enough without question - all of you. I shouldn’t take advantage of that.”

“No, Lydia, I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles said hastily. “I was just upset. Look, I won’t deny that it doesn’t feel right not being able to see the whole board, but...pirates, poachers, whatever, that seems pretty straightforward. And I will help you with that, okay? I won’t let them hurt you.”

Lydia gave him a watery smile. “Okay.”

He nodded, feeling his lips curl upward. A beat passed, and Stiles realised he was now just staring at Lydia like an idiot, so he made to prepare dinner, mumbling a joke about how the stove might not work.

The stove hissed as he brought the canned soup to boil, such that he almost missed the sound of a throat clearing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t misheard, and found Lydia looking at him.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

* * *

 

They went outside after dinner, hand in hand. The night sky was mostly clear, without the moon to wash out the stars, something Lydia had noticed while they were indoors. Stiles hadn’t missed the way her gaze had been drawn to the window as they ate, too fascinated to ask her usual questions. He suggested stepping outside as soon as they were both finished, and Lydia did not argue.

Lydia shivered in the cold night air, hunching her shoulders, but kept her head tilted upwards. Her long hair hung behind her, swaying in the light breeze.

Stiles was about to put his arm around her shoulders when she spun out of reach without warning, a breathless giggle escaping her lips in a soft puff. The light of the hut faintly illuminated the swell of her cheeks as she smiled.

“They are so clear here,” she mused. “So sharp.”

Stiles stepped towards her, momentarily drawing her eyes away from the sky. “What do they look like, underwater?”

Lydia hummed contemplatively. “Softer,” she settled on. “Not as bright. And they are always dancing with the water.”

She started swaying from side to side, the movement looking far more natural than when he’d made her dance the night before, as if she wasn’t really moving, but letting the waves guide her. Taking a chance, Stiles reached for her hand again, smiling internally when she did not pull away. She let him take another step closer, and when he had both her hands in his he was swaying along with her. Somehow, their feet started moving in the sand, taking them in small circles. The two of them, slow dancing under the stars to the music of the waves.

Lydia sighed happily as she threw her head back, enjoying the view and the wind. She let her whole body lean forward when she dropped her chin again, sending her stumbling into Stiles. Instead of being embarrassed, however, she only grinned up at him.

“We have stars in the water too,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Mm, the starfish?” Stiles whispered back, taken by the proximity of their faces. He was very aware of her hands on his arms, just below his shoulders, having held onto him when she lost her balance. His had landed on her waist to support her. He was still leaning back from when she lurched into his space, but if he just straightened his back and ducked his head…

Lydia shushed him and shook her head, the action throwing sections of her hair over her shoulders. “ _Sea stars,_ ” she corrected. “They’re not actual fish. And no, that’s not it.”

She tilted her head up again and her whole body leaned back, letting his arms around her keep her upright.

“These stars,” she murmured. “You can’t see them until they shine. And it’s different when they do. More like...a glow.”

“Oh, glowing algae,” Stiles said. “My dad took me and Scott to this campsite once, and when we threw pebbles in the water we could see them glow. We brought some water back in bottles and dumped them down the toilet to make it glow. Scott’s mum got mad at us for it.”

He saw Lydia suppress a smile, but the small laugh that escaped through her nose gave her away. “What about _your_ mum?” she asked him.

Stiles froze. He had been so consumed with helping Lydia that he had not stopped to think that it had all started because he had been out on the beach, mourning.

Lydia, sensing Stiles’ stillness, looked down and shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Stiles responded quickly. “It’s just, it was her anniversary that day. I was thinking about her, and then I found you.”

They stood in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say or do. The tension clung around them like the cold, until finally, Lydia shifted on her feet again.

“It’s cold,” she muttered, pulling her hands away from Stiles to hug herself. “It’s not so cold in the water at night.”

“Yeah, you know, land breeze, sea breeze,” Stiles said, wrapping an arm around her to give her warmth. This time, she did not move away. He peered at her face, turned down, hiding behind hunched shoulders. “You wanna go inside?”

Lydia nodded without looking at him, and he shuttled her back to the hut.

The relative warmth of the hut enveloped them as soon as they stepped foot in the door. Still, Stiles paused to adjust the heater, and had to run out again to get their sleeping bags from the car.

“Right, your bed’s all set,” Stiles announced once he had Scott’s sleeping bag rolled out on the mattress for Lydia. Apparently, the hut did not come with blankets, which really, how spartan could the Hales get?

“I came here to look for my mom.”

Stiles paused in the middle of unrolling his own sleeping bag. Lydia was perched on the edge of the mattress, watching him. She had pulled her knees into her chest again, her hands clasped in front of her ankles lap, fingers twisting with each other nervously. Her eyes darted down to the ground when he looked up at her.

“Your real mom,” he figured. “But you said you don’t remember - ”

“I don’t,” she confirmed. “It’s...it’s different, for me. I’m not…”

“A real mermaid?”

Lydia sniffed. Her hands stopped moving. She noticed her pull her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly release it.

“Lydia, hey.” Stiles kicked his shoes off and crawled over his sleeping bag. He came to kneel in front of her, hunching his back and craning his neck to look at her when she keep her head down.

“I hate to break it to you, but you look pretty real to me,” he told her. “Unless I’m dreaming, in which, wow, that’s a really long dream. I even slept in my dream, which means I’m sleeping really well in reality, which is unprecedented.”

He caught himself mid-ramble when he heard Lydia sniffle again - no, she had _chuckled_. Stiles looked back to find her lips pressed together as she tried to hide her amusement.

But when her eyes meet his, finally, her face fell again.

“I wasn’t salvaged.”

She turned away from him, expression distant, and sighed. “They always said my grandmother salvaged my mother because she saved me, and let her salvage me, but during my resolution…”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and slid her hands down the sides of her hips.

“You were _born_ a mermaid,” Stiles realised. “That’s why you don’t have any human memories.”

Lydia did not reply, but the increasingly distraught look on her face was confirmation enough.

“But then,” Stiles continued, “who are you looking for?”

Lydia snapped her head towards Stiles, green eyes wide. Her lips moved silently, and Stiles watched patiently, letting her search for the words. Suddenly, she kicked her legs out, reached over and pulled his hand onto her leg.

“Lydia - what?” Stiles stuttered. Lydia was still wearing his sweats, but they hung loose on her slime frame and had rolled up when she tucked her legs in earlier, exposing her skin up to mid-thigh. Stiles kept watching her face, not daring to look down as he slid his hand out from under hers, over the side of her knee, fingers carefully curling under her calf.

“Does it have something to do with your tail - tapestry?” he inferred.

Lydia, unlike Stiles, was staring at his hand on her, like it was an anchor, a focus as she fought to get the words out.

“For a moment, it made me look human,” she admitted. “I didn’t get any memories, but my mother did. She remembered that she wasn’t my mother. She was just carrying me.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but the _Oh, Lydia_ sitting on his tongue felt neither sufficient nor appropriate. He placed his free hand on her shoulder instead, rubbing light circles with his thumb to soothe her.

“My grandmother wanted to keep my origin a secret so I wouldn’t be different from the others. But everyone came to my resolution, so they found out anyway. I couldn’t stand it. Everyone kept _looking_ at me. No one would talk to me. I felt so strange and alone. And then I learn that my mother isn’t even really my mother, not even in the mermaid way…”

She turned back to Stiles, no longer looking upset, just sad. “It was like I didn’t belong anymore.”

“So you wanted to find your real family,” Stiles concluded.

Lydia nodded. She began to cast her eyes downwards again, but Stiles called her name, drawing her gaze back to his.

“I’ll help you find her, okay? If that’s what you want,” he promised, looking her right in the eyes to show his sincerity. “Once this pirate thing blows over, I will help you.”

There was a pregnant pause as Lydia studied his face. Then a smile broke across her face, and for the first time that night, she did not try to hide that she was smiling at his words.

She rolled her lips inwards shyly, but her expression did not change. “Thank you,” she told him.

Stiles wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, gazing at each other with small smiles on their faces, but at some point he suddenly became acutely aware that they had been just _gazing,_ and his hand was still in contact with her bare skin. He quickly retracted them and cleared his throat.

“Sleep now?” He didn’t wait for an answer before moving to turn out the light.

Lydia had tucked herself into Scott’s sleeping bag when he turned back, so Stiles quickly settled into his own bag on the floor next to the mattress. He folded his arms over his torso and was ready to fall asleep when he heard the nylon rustling next to him.

Lydia’s silhouette appeared in the corner of his vision as she rolled over to the edge of the mattress, followed by the trail of his fingers down his chest as she sought his hand out in the dark. Stiles obliged, weaving their fingers together.

“I’m glad I found you,” Lydia murmured sleepily.

Something bloomed inside his chest as he shifted onto his side so he could face her, bringing their clasped hands up to his chest.

“Me too,” he answered, squeezing her hand. “Good night, Lydia.”

And that was how they fell asleep, hands linked like a new connection had been forged between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote the line "Good night, Lydia" I realised that was what Stiles said to her at the end of the second chapter and I was like wow, stydia parallels as if I didn't make the parallel myself and just succumbed to the FEELS. Then I made Stiles make Lydia smile multiple times while also smiling because of her.
> 
> There are so many contractions in this chapter it drives me crazy but saying 'did not' and 'was not' sounds so unnatural.
> 
> FYI if you ever find yourself near the ocean and want to see if there are any fluorescing algae in the water, a better way to see them is to stir the water with a stick or hit the surface with a canoe paddle, not throw rocks.


	8. runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles leaves for five minutes and everything falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to leave this fic for a while to work on other drafts, but I found out about MerMay. I took it as a sign to keep working on this. I'm in my last month of school (thanks quarter system) so things are getting busy, but I will try to work hard on this as much as I can to celebrate. Even though it's an event for artists, and this story hardly features any mermaids in mermaid form.
> 
> By the way, I've started listening to this [mermaid music playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/dfiechter2/playlist/6oIudFJgfl6RAGoM0IC6kU) while writing this fic. Thought I'd share.

Lydia blinked in the morning sunlight, brighter than it had ever been underwater. It filtered through the windows and bounced off the wooden ceiling. Smiling, the girl turned her head to the side, searching for the boy whose hand was warm as the sun when it was wrapped around hers at night.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Stiles turned and smiled.

“Good morning,” he greeted, and never mind the sun, his eyes were _golden_.

He was sat up, phone in hand. Lydia peered at the curious object.

Stiles glanced between her and his phone. “I’m talking to Scott,” he explained, waving the device. “His mother works at the hospital. If there’s a record of any surrogacy, she’ll be able to find it, then we can look for your mother.”

She must have stiffened at his words, because Stiles quickly leaned over and placed his free hand over her shoulder, the warmth immediately creeping through the sheets and under her skin.

“It’s okay,” he added quickly. “I didn’t tell him anything. And he won’t ask about it.”

He paused for breath, and then finished. “It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve asked him about.”

Lydia snorted, her breath escaping her through her nose, as the boy ducked his head. She rolled onto her side and pushed her upper body off the mattress. Stiles’ full form came into view, cross-legged on top of his sleeping bag. She scanned up his body, lingering on the breadth his oversized coat gave to his shoulders, and her face fell.

“You’re dressed,” she noted.

Stiles sighed heavily. “I have to meet my dad. He wants to see me since I haven’t been home. It’s okay, though. He’s the sheriff, he could update us on the poachers.”

He tucked his phone into his pocket and looked back up to find the girl determinedly picking at the sheets.

“Hey,” he told her, hunching down so they were eye-to-eye. “I chose this. I want to help.”

He gently pried her hands from the fabric, causing her to look up at him.

“I’ll get you a nice dress to go with those shoes,” he suggested.

Lydia eyed the silver flats, kicked off at the end of the mattress. Stiles wanted to laugh at the wanting in her eyes. He didn’t know what merpeople wore - shells? Seaweed? But he would happily wager that Lydia was one of the more fashionable mermaids. He could imagine her browsing in a store, examining the clothing on display and humming to express her verdict.

A small smile crept onto her face. “Okay,” she relented.

His phone buzzed. Stiles squeezed Lydia’s hands before releasing them to read his new text message.

“Derek,” he explained. “He’ll be here soon so you won’t be left alone. He is a terrible conversationalist, though, so that’s not much better. And we don’t know if he can cook, so Scott will also bring food later.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and he jumped to his feet. Lydia bolted up in bed, confused.

“That reminds me,” Stiles said gleefully. He wandered over to the countertop on the other side of the hut and returned with a small item in his hands. He held it out to Lydia.

“I made breakfast,” he announced. “It’s a sandwich.”

He laughed at the face she pulled. “No, it doesn’t have real sand in it. It has that garlic butter you like. This is how we actually eat it.”

That seemed to convince Lydia. She took the sandwich and gave it a sniff before biting into the bread. Stiles laughed again when she smacked her lips. He made a mental list of snacks to buy while he was out. Chocolate, tortilla chips, not prawn crackers because Lydia probably wouldn’t appreciate that… Oh, he should introduce her to peanut butter. He could get some Reeses.

The door creaked open when Derek entered the hut.

“Oh,” he stared at Stiles, face inexpressive as always, but there was a tint of surprise in his voice. “You’re leaving.”

“Why does everyone act like I’m going off to war?” Stiles said, indignant. “I’m just going to meet my dad. I told you that.”

Derek sighed heavily.

“I didn’t expect you to head out so soon.” He dropped a large brown paper bag at Stiles’ feet. “Scott made me bring this. He thought you might want a change of clothes, but I see that is probably not the case.”

Stiles squatted down to peer at the contents. “How’d you get here? I didn’t hear you pull up.”

“I have a zodiac,” Derek explained. “It’s docked just under a mile away. You have my car, and the jeep’s too recognisable. I left it at the lighthouse.”

His voice was more monotonous than usual, like he was exhausted, or stressed, or at the very least, something was weighing on his mind. And it wasn’t like Derek to just dropped things off at Stiles’ feet. Under normal circumstances he would have thrown the bag at Stiles and watch him fall over himself trying to catch it.

“You okay, man?” Stiles asked as he rifled through the bag. There were two sets of clothes - one for him and one for Lydia, he assumed. He grinned inwardly when he pulled out his ‘stud muffin’ graphic tee.

Derek heaved out another sigh, causing Stiles to twist his body around. The young man was leaning against the kitchenette counter, eyes far away.

“I stopped by the petrified forest,” he explained. “She wasn’t there. The Queen doesn’t want any more people going near the surface for now. She left a message though, asking if I knew anything.”

He glanced at Lydia, though the girl was not listening to him. She was staring at Stiles, or rather, past him. Stiles realised he was still holding up the T-shirt, and followed Lydia’s eyes to the drawn muffin. A small smirk broke across his lips. He folded the shirt and placed it back in the bag before shoving the whole bag across the floor to Lydia. She quickly finished her sandwich and dusted her hands off before reaching into the bag.

Stiles smiled before turning back to Derek, who still had a dark look on his face. Stiles quickly rearranged his face into an equally solemn expression. He had not intended to be distracted by his and Lydia’s little exchange…

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying hard not to look at Lydia admiring his clothes like a kid in a costume shop. “What did you tell her?”

Derek lowered his head. “Nothing. I did not know what to say. I don’t want to lie to her, not anymore…”

Stiles nodded, although Derek was not looking at him. He figured Paige was a sensitive topic for the man, considering yesterday had been the first time Derek had ever spoken about the girl he kept a picture of. He also knew what it was like to lose someone, and believe it or not, he would not dare wish for Derek and Paige to lose their second chance.

“Hey,” he said. He thought about reaching out and patting the man’s shoulder, but thought better of it. “We’ll figure something out. Trust me.”

Derek tore his gaze away from his shoe, only to give Stiles a raised eyebrow. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Fine, trust Scott.”

Derek raised the other eyebrow. He blinked a few times, but finally huffed and nodded. Stiles took that as a win. ‘Trust Scott’ _always_ worked.

Derek’s eyes flickered to Lydia, who was now examining a pair of water-resistant pants, the stud muffin tee spread across her lap, then back to Stiles.

“Go meet your dad, Stiles,” he ordered. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

Stiles mumbled in agreement, and with one last look at the girl on the mattress, left the hut.

(He was so swinging by the bakery for some muffins on his way back.)

* * *

 

The seafront of Beacon Villa had a simply small town feel, with the homes and shop houses not rising above two storeys. Head inland, however, and one would eventually find Beacon Village, the closest they had to a downtown. The architecture was more modern here, more glass and less shiplap. There was a tech store, a pottery studio, a major book retailer, and a couple of higher-end outerwear or swimwear outlets.

The mall was the heart of the Village; a four storey building that housed a department store, a cinema, some pushcarts and a handful of food places. Stiles ran into one of the deputies as soon as he entered the building, and was told his dad was in the department store, third floor.

It was a little strange that his father wanted to meet him here, of all places, but Stiles shrugged it off. The knowledge of mermaids, pirates and poachers made everything seem a little more normal.

The third floor housed the ladies fashion department, and Stiles checked his surroundings before entering. No classmates in sight to rat about him, not that he had any reputation to uphold whatsoever. There was just a man with baggy pants and a brown fishing vest leaning against the display glass next to the entrance, probably waiting for a wife or girlfriend. He seemed to have noticed Stiles’ awkward behaviour, and Stiles nodded self-consciously, which just made things even more awkward. He quickly slipped inside.

His dad was not in sight. He did, however, see dresses. Lots of them. He stepped towards the nearest rack, paused to look around, took another step, looked around again, reached out to feel a random garment, still looking around, head craned, scanning the store, totally surreptitious. There were a few shoppers and a sales assistant, but none close enough to see him or recognise him.

Stiles finally turned to the dresses. He browsed from rack to rack, occasionally pushing them aside to get a closer look. He found himself humming in approval whenever he found one that he could picture Lydia in - a white dress with eyelets in the neckline and hem, a few floral dresses, a blue short-sleeved sundress.

He spotted another scrap of floral pattern amongst the hangers and tugged at it, pulling out a red dress with large white flowers on it. It was similar to another dress he had found earlier, but different. The colour was brighter, the neckline scooped instead of a mock collar thing that he was 50/50 about Lydia liking, and the skirt was longer too. He guessed from the design that it would fan out when she twirled around, and the image of Lydia spinning around under the stars, the dress fluttering around her, filled his mind.

“Looking for your dad?”

Stiles jumped, very nearly ripping the dress off the rack. Spinning around, he found the owner of the voice.

“Heather! Hey,” he greeted. He released the fabric from his hands and buried them on his pockets in a futile attempt to look like he was not just checking out women’s clothing. He eyed her uniform grey sweater and nametag. “You work here now. How’d you know I’m here to meet my dad?”

Heather shrugged. “The cops have been here since opening, asking about the missing girl. Your dad came by not too long ago. Just came up to our section, actually. And as much as I want to hit my sales target, I don’t think there’s anything here that would interest you. Unless there’s something else?”

She raised her brows and jerked her chin towards the dress rack behind Stiles.

“What missing girl?” Stiles asked, ignoring her suggestive tone. His heart thundered in his ears. If his dad was looking for Lydia…

“You don’t know yet?” Heather asked, surprised. She glanced over Stiles’ shoulder again. “Must be something else, then. That’s a good choice. I’m sure she’ll like it, whoever she is.”

“What?” Stiles asked, twisting his head to see what Heather was looking at. “Oh - I uh, I’m not - I wasn’t really, uh - ”

He motioned helplessly between the dress and himself.

“Do you want me to hold that for you?” Heather asked.

Stiles gave the dress one long look and sighed in defeat. “Yeah, that’ll be great, actually,” he said, turning back to his classmate. She smirked at him and carefully lifted the dress and hanger off the rack, folding the item over her arm.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him as she made her way over to the counter. “You’re not the weirdest person here today.”

“Um, thanks?”

Heather took the barcode scanner and waved it to Stiles’ left. Stiles frowned at it, confused for a moment, then turned to see what Heather had been pointing at.

“That guy there,” she said conversationally. “He came here with the cops and has been moping around ever since. I think he might be related to the whole missing girl thing. Distraught family member, I’m guessing, probably getting emotional seeing all the stuff we sell here. You should tell your dad to maybe escort him to somewhere less...triggering.”

Stiles eyed the man Heather was referring to. He was slouching on one of the benches left around for shopper, arms resting on his knees. The posture gave Stiles a clear view of his long sleeves, billowing out at the wrists like he stepped out of an olden English time. He too had a vest over his shirt.

Stiles spun his head towards the entrance. He could see the man outside through the display window, but then man was no longer leaning against the glass. His hands were pressed against the window, and he was a little far for Stiles to see, but it looked like he was watching Stiles.

His heart pounded in his chest. _Keep cool. They might not know who you are._

Heather sang along to the song playing over the sound system as she folded Lydia’s dress on the counter, unaware of the sudden turn of events. Stiles retrieved his wallet and pulled out a few notes.

“Hey, uh, I’ll go look for my dad real quick,” he told her, “but I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Heather said brightly. Stiles remembered thinking she always sounded cheerful back in middle school. No wonder this was her summer job. “It’s no rush, really. I’m here until four.”

“Thanks, Heather,” he said, leaving the notes on the counter as he hastily backed away from the counter. “You can leave the change in the bag.”

He weaved his way through the displays, occasionally checking to see if anyone was following him. He was so concerned with looking over his shoulder that he walked straight into someone.

“There you are.”

Stiles looked up to see his dad standing over him. He flailed and stumbled backwards in shock, but his father reached an arm out and grabbed the back of Stiles’ jacket.

“Thanks dad. Hi,” Stiles greeted once he had found his footing. “I was just looking for you.”

The sheriff fixed his son with a look that meant they were going to have a serious conversation.

“That’s funny because I was looking for you too,” he replied, pulling Stiles to the side. “What is going on, Stiles?”

“Dad, who reported the missing girl?”

“That’s not what I - ”

“Dad, please, just tell me,” Stiles begged. “I can explain everything.”

_Well, maybe not the part about mermaids_ , he thought. _That will not go over well._

His father frowned at him, as if mentally debating if he should give in or continue questioning Stiles. He took a deep breath, and Stiles thought he was going to tell him what was going on. However, instead of opening his mouth, the sheriff glanced at something behind Stiles.

Turning around, Stiles noticed the man with the bishop-sleeved shirt speaking with one of the deputies. The man’s eyes drifted over to Stiles, and Stiles swore the man squinted at him. Stiles quickly turned back just as his father began to speak.

“They claim to live out at sea,” his dad said. “The girl was swept off the ship during the storm. They think she could have ended up here.”

He narrowed his eyes when Stiles scoffed.

“What is going on, Stiles?” the sheriff repeated, throwing his arms out. “I’m used to you and Scott having your own impromptu camping trips, but only Scott returns asking Melissa about surrogacies, and Derek comes to the station driving your jeep - ”

“You know, I wasn’t a fan of that,” Stiles interjected.

“ - telling me some guys that look like these men were following him, and he thinks they, I don’t know, want to take something from him.”

Stiles fisted his hands. They wanted to take _Lydia_. He couldn’t let his father bring her to them.

“Dad, I think they were following me too,” he said. “There was a guy at the entrance. He saw me come in, Later I saw him watching me. And the other guy there was in a different section a while ago. I think they know that I know Derek.”

The frown on the sheriff’s face quickly morphed into one of concern. Something swelled up in Stiles’ chest, knowing that no matter how often he annoyed his father (which was a lot, he would admit), his dad still cared about him.

“What do they want?” his dad asked, voice dangerously low.

Stiles swallowed. “You said they live at sea. Derek’s family lived at sea. You know they collected many things. Maybe some of that is valuable.”

He looked straight into his father’s eyes, hoping the man would listen to him. His father had pulled his lower lip into his mouth, not biting, just holding it between his teeth. It was a sign that he was thinking carefully.

“You believe Derek.”

Stiles gave a short nod.

“Derek, who you hate and once thought was a serial killer. You think he’s telling the truth.”

“No need to remind me, dad, okay?”

The sheriff nodded, muttering under his breath, “Okay, okay…” His eyes scanned from side to side, reading the invisible notes he had written up in his head, and then he looked up at Stiles again.

“So if Derek is telling the truth, what about the missing girl? Is that all made up?”

Stiles’ heart plummeted. He had not thought of a way to explain Lydia. He had agreed not to let anyone else know about Lydia’s presence, but he did not know how else to tell his dad the weird men had to get out of town ASAP. They could not do much about a potential robbery. Potential kidnapping, however...

“No, she’s...with Derek,” Stiles answered slowly.

“What?!” Sheriff whispered harshly.

Stiles held his hands out to calm his father down. “She didn’t want anyone to know, but came here looking for him,” he fibbed. “His family knew her family. These guys just followed her here.”

At least the second half of that wasn’t a lie.

His dad groaned. He waved an arm to make a point, but seemed to decide otherwise. He pointed at Stiles, and said, “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take me to this girl, so I can ask for her side of the story. Alone. And then we’ll figure it out.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. He could be persuasive, but he did not expect his dad to accept his crappy explanation that quickly.

“That’s it?” he blurted out. “You’re convinced?”

The sheriff shook his head and started to steer Stiles out of the store, hand on his shoulder.

“Not entirely,” he admitted. “But it does explain you buying that dress.”

Stiles tripped. He whirled around and stepped backwards, holding an arm out as he faced his father. He gaped openly as he tried to formulate a response.

“Oh come on,” said the sheriff, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You were not subtle at all. Even I noticed you from across the store. And I’m almost sixty.”

* * *

 

They were driving to the hut in Derek’s sleek Toyota (Stiles managed to convince his dad not to follow in the Sheriff’s cruiser, it was too easy followed) when the sheriff remarked,

“So, this girl. You must think she’s something.”

He laughed as Stiles’ cheeks turned pink. “Short girl with red hair and green eyes,” he read from his notebook. “That’s your type?”

“She’s five foot three and her hair’s actually strawberry blonde,” Stiles replied a little too quickly.

He watched in the corner of his eye his father lean back with a small ‘huh’ and tuck his notebook back into his coat pocket, looking a little too smug and satisfied.

The hut came into view up ahead, a solidarity structure in the midst of a quiet grassy field and pristine white sand. Scott’s bike was parked at the edge of the grass patch and Stiles pulled up next to it.

His father stepped out of the car first, but Stiles took his time. He gazed out towards the ocean, barely visible from their location, but he could hear it with one car door open. He felt his grip on the wheel relax, the nervous energy draining from his body like the receding tides. Maybe that was how Lydia opened up last night, with the sound of the sea comforting her.

“Whoa, what’s wrong? Slow down, son.”

His father’s voice broke through the whispers of the waves. Stiles turned his head, and looking through the still-open passenger door, saw Scott running up to them.

Scott keeled over in front of the sheriff, hands on his knees, panting heavily. He fumbled for his inhaler and shook it furiously before taking a deep breath from it. Stiles got out and raced around the front of the car in time to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“They’re gone,” Scott gasped. “Lydia and Derek, they’re both gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Before you plot my downfall, please take a moment to appreciate [Karolina's cute MerMay fanart](https://twitter.com/mieczyslydias/status/993181097184976896) that inspired the stud muffin shirt scene. I really wrote that into the fic just today because it is such a good concept.
> 
> By the way, the dress Stiles buys for Lydia is that one from 5x06, because it looks the most similar to the one that appears in [this aesthetic](http://raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com/post/154848081991/12-days-of-stydia-day-10-favourite-au-mermaid) I made.
> 
> I am [raspberrylimonade](raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com/tagged/par-moi) on tumblr and [stlnskissmartin](twitter.com/stlnskissmartin) on twitter.
> 
> This fic is tagged "Angst with a Happy Ending".


	9. schrodinger's mermaid

The landscape blurred as they sped across the outskirts of the town, not that Stiles was paying it any mind. His eyes were fixed on the road in front of them as his heart thundered in his chest.

“There were no signs of struggle,” his father considered. “That means they left on their own.”

“Maybe they saw one of the pirates and thought it was best to leave,” Scott suggested.

“I’m sorry, did you say pirates?” the sheriff asked, turning to face Scott, who was in the back seat.

“I asked Derek what exactly they did,” Scott began to answer. “He said they steal artefacts from other ships and poach the - ”

He met Stiles’ eyes in the rear view mirror and cut himself off. Stiles stared at Scott grimly and shook his head.

Scott, thank god, got the message.

“They poach sea creatures,” Scott corrected. “Hunt them for their parts. Like fins, feathers…scales…”

Stiles thought about the drawing Derek had framed on his wall. Each scale on the mermaid’s tail had been lined intricately with ink. In his mind, he pictured Lydia’s face over the drawing. He gripped the wheel tighter and pressed on the accelerator pedal.

“So these guys want something from Derek Hale, maybe something his family collected,” his father was saying. “Then why did this girl - Lydia - come to look for him?”

Both Scott and his father turned to Stiles. His dad was in detective mode, trying to piece together the different parts of a case. Scott simply looked confused, as if to say, _what_ did _you tell your dad?_

Stiles sighed. “She wasn’t looking for Derek,” he admitted. “She came here to find someone else, and happened to meet Derek. They just kinda know each other.”

“So she _did_ live at sea,” his father said, drawing the same conclusion Stiles had the first time he brought Lydia home. “Then who is she looking for?”

“Her mom,” Stiles answered softly.

“Her real mom,” he added when Scott looked even more confused. He recounted what Lydia had told him last night, only changing it slightly to omit the mermaids.

When he finished, he noticed his father frowning at the dashboard, deep in thought.

“What’s wrong, dad?” he asked.

The sheriff rubbed his forehead. “Many years ago, before either of you were born,” he began, “there was a case. A couple drowned en route to Beacon Villa. They were supposed to visit a friend who lived here. The woman reported them when they didn’t show. We found the man’s body, but not the woman’s. Their neighbours said they were unmarried but the woman was pregnant.”

The older man paused. “They said that the couple had been fighting about it. Someone heard the man say that it wasn’t his child. I always thought…”

He trailed off as they finally reached the lighthouse.

Stiles killed the engine, his heart thundering in his chest. His mind was still reeling from the new information Scott had given him, of what the men would do to Lydia if they had really taken her and Derek. She no longer had her tail (still a little weird to think about), which meant they might not kill her for her scales and she could still be alive. But that did not rule out torture, and other things Stiles would rather not think about.

“Does Derek own any boats?” his dad asked.

“He has a pontoon at the harbour,” Scott answered. “Why?”

No one replied, because they had all spotted the three small boats haphazardly moored right beneath the cliff of the lighthouse.

The sheriff drew his pistol as the approached the lighthouse. “Stay behind me,” he ordered. Scott and Stiles obliged.

Stiles admired how his father was able to remain so calm. His own heart was about to break through his ribcage and out of his chest. Still, his dad had not met Lydia. He did not know her personally. Hell, he did not even know the entire truth, because Stiles did not tell him. He did not know who he was really up against. For a moment, Stiles wondered if he should have just sucked it up and told his father everything.

The trio burst into the lighthouse, the sheriff holding his gun out in front of him. They did not make it far into the entryway, because another man stood at the end of it, pistol similarly drawn. Stiles nearly gasped when he noticed the girl leaning against the far wall, watching them over the man’s shoulder, but he quickly realised she was too tall, her dark hair the wrong color, and cut at her shoulders instead of Lydia’s long waves.

“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” his father barked. “Where’s Derek Hale?”

“He’s in here,” a voice drawled from within the lighthouse.

The man stepped aside to allow the sheriff, Scott and Stiles to move into the living room, the barrel of his gun still trained at the group. They trudged forward warily, until the full living room came into view. Derek was sitting on the same chair he had been when he greeted the boys and Lydia two mornings before. This time, however, there was someone else leaning over the back of the chair, hovering like a raptor over an injured prey. A fourth person – a woman with dark skin - stood in the other corner, also guarding Derek.

They were not the same people Stiles had seen at the mall, but that did not mean they were not related.

The guy behind the chair looked up as they entered, curly hair falling into lidded eyes, sharp jawline, lips curled into a smug smile. He looked about the same age as Stiles and Scott.

“Look who’s here,” he whispered into Derek’s ear. “Someone came for you.”

Derek did not respond. In fact, he was the only person in the room who was not watching the boys and the sheriff. Instead, he kept his head down; his whole body hunched forward, forearms braced against his thighs.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice shaking slightly. “Where’s Lydia?”

“So you know,” a low voice boomed. It was the first man they had encountered. He was older than his companions, with greying hair and a beard. He lowered his gun and strode into the middle of the room.

“We’d like to find out too,” he said, looking straight at Derek as he spoke.

“We’d also like to know how your friend got _this_ \- ”

He pulled a thick journal from the bookshelf and slammed it down onto the coffee table. Or rather, the large jar that Stiles now noticed was on the coffee table. The journal hit its rusty lid with a ‘thud’, causing the contents of the jar to rattle.

“ - in his possession.”

The glass was stained and dirty, but Stiles could still make out the large, fan-shaped pieces inside, bouncing light off their surfaces as they trembled.

Scales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, another cliffhanger.
> 
> This was a pretty short and boring chapter, but it's going to get wild after this. And I'm so happy to finally introduce more characters! And Isaac's hair, because.
> 
> Oh, and today happens to be Mothers' day, hmm.
> 
> I didn't think about this until I was editing the chapter, but Scott's bike is unaccounted for. So let's just say they strapped it to the top of Derek's car or something.
> 
> I am raspberrylimonade and tumblr and @stlnskissmartin on twitter!


	10. a loss for a loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, it's another very filler-y chapter but a couple of things are explained so bear with me.

Stiles jerked forward, nearly pushing past his dad. He was held back only by Scott’s firm grip on his wrist.

He ignored the curly-haired boy’s amused smirk and focused on the sullen young man beneath him. Derek was built and could have easily thrown the boy off him, but he had not. He simply sat there, slouched forward, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Stiles knew what that meant: guilt.

“What did you do?” Stiles asked. His voice was low and guttural.

“Don’t worry,” a voice said. Stiles whipped his head to the side to look at the dark-skinned woman. Leaning against the bookshelf, her posture was casual as was her tone, but her face was impassive. Serious.

“They’re not hers,” she elaborated. “They can’t make her turn back no matter what.”

“Who’s ‘her’?” the sheriff demanded, gun still clutched in hand. “Whose are those?  _ What _ are those?”

This time, it was the man who spoke. “Those are scales. From the tail of Laura Hale.”

“Who’s Laura?” Scott asked, the same time the sheriff frowned and blurted, “What do you mean  _ ‘tail’ _ ?”

The man raised his greying brows. “You don’t know.”

It was a statement. He sounded almost surprised at the observation. Then he looked at Stiles. “ _ You _ know, but you didn’t tell him what he’s really looking for.”

“I’m looking for a missing girl,” the sheriff told him.

“Actually, you’re looking for a missing mermaid who turned into a girl and is now missing as a girl,” said the guy standing over Derek.

The sheriff spun, sweeping his gun across the room until it was pointed at the guy, who had lost his smirk, but did not appear fazed.

“This is a prank,” the sheriff huffed. “This department does not take kindly to pranks.”

“Dad,” Stiles spoke up weakly. His father looked at him over his shoulder, face contorted with confusion and a hint of exasperation, and it took everything in Stiles not to look away in shame. “He’s telling the truth.”

Scott, who was still holding onto his arm, gave a reassuring squeeze. Stiles exhaled, feeling his body relax. He had not realised how tense he had been.

“Just put the gun down, Sheriff,” the man with the beard spoke up. “We can explain.”

The sheriff looked between the man and his own son. Slowly, he lowered his arm and holstered his gun. He gave Stiles one last glance, at which Stiles finally dropped his head, and then turned back to the man. “I’m listening.”

“My name is Chris Argent,” the man started. He introduced his accomplices - the woman, Braeden, Isaac, the boy hovering over Derek, and Allison, his daughter. He explained that they patrolled the sea and to stop poaching.

“But the coast of Beacon County doesn’t support any sought-after wildlife,” Scott pointed out.

“You’re right,” Argent said gravelly. “The poachers here aren’t interested in wildlife. They are interested in the members of a whole other civilisation.”

“The mer,” Stiles murmured. His eyes flickered to the drawing on Derek’s wall. He had not given it much thought before, but the man spoke as if the mermaids had built an entire empire. How many others like Lydia were out there, inhabiting the coast?

“Argent,” his father pondered, ignoring the implications that mythical creatures were living on the fringes of his county. “I remember that name. One of you found Laura Hale’s body.”

Argent nodded. “My wife,” he clarified. He did not explain why she was not with them, but added, “and she only found  _ half _ the body.”

“Wait - half a dead body? That was your sister? But that was years before the Hale boat accident.”

“And what did the autopsy say? The body had been waterlogged for years. It was a wonder it had not decayed. Another unsolved mystery from the coast of Beacon County.”

“Ask yourself, Sheriff, all the unclosed cases. Your department has plenty, don’t they? What’s the trend amongst all or at least most of them?”

“People going missing,” Stiles’ father answered. “At sea.”

Chris Argent shook his head. He turned to the window and stared into the distance.

“They are not missing,” he said gravely. “They are still living out there, just not where most people can see.”

“They were turned,” Scott finished.

Argent glanced back at him. “My family originates from Europe. We’ve studied the mer for centuries. They turn people to save them from drowning, but not just anyone. They save people who drown from accidents, give them a second chance, or people who showed bravery, strength, some kind of virtue.”

“And Laura Hale?” asked the Sheriff.

“Both,” Derek answered, staring at his feet.

Derek told them his story. One night, he was wandering around on the deck. He disregarded safety protocol on the ship and fell off. Laura dived into the water to save him but succumbed to hypothermia. She was turned into a mermaid but went missing a few years ago.

Considering her scales were sitting in a jar on Derek’s coffee table, Stiles figured Laura Hale had not simply gone on a vacation with other mermaids.

“Who got her?” Argent asked Derek. The younger man exhaled slowly, the falling line of his back made him appear to be slumping more than Stiles thought humanly possible.

“Eichen,” Derek mumbled.

Argent whipped around from the window. Isaac and Braeden both straightened, tense. Allison sucked in a tiny breath. Their collective reaction made Stiles narrow his eyes.

“What’s wrong? What’s this Eichen?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse.

Isaac pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, as if the word  _ Eichen _ alone made him nervous. “Well…” he drawled, “they are bad people. Very bad.”

“Uh huh, yeah, can we have something a little more helpful, please?”

“The Eichen is the ship of the most notorious poachers along this entire coastline. They’ve been all the way up to the Broken Islands. They are ruthless and insane. If you are caught by them, you either die or wish you were dead,” Braeden fired off, her words clipped.

“They killed Lydia’s grandmother several years ago too,” Allison added quietly.

“Tortured, experimented on,  _ then _ killed,” her father supplied.

Stiles blinked in shock. Then he launched himself at Derek again, and this time Scott was not fast enough to hold him back. Fortunately for Derek, there was the coffee table between him and Stiles. Stiles’ legs crashed into the wooden furniture, and he was too wound up with the idea of Lydia being someone’s  _ experiment _ to move around it.

“You knew what they would do, didn’t you!” Stiles yelled. “How could you?”

Isaac finally stepped away from the seat, only so Stiles could scream at Derek and Derek alone. Stiles felt someone grip his left arm, then there were hands on his shoulders. It was Scott, of course, and Allison too. He let them pull him backwards while he caught his breath.

Argent stepped away from the window and made his way around Derek’s chair. He reached into his coat and pulled out a knife. He pointed it at the jar.

“They found you,” he stated. “They offered you a trade. The scales for the princess.”

“It’s all of her that’s left,” Derek replied weakly. Hearing the sorrow in the man’s voice, Stiles might have felt sad for him. Then he remembered that Lydia was in danger.

“So that’s why you were acting weird this morning,” Stiles realised. “It wasn’t because of Paige, was it? You knew you were going to turn her in.”

Argent squatted in front of the chair so he could look up into Derek’s eyes.

“I’m disappointed it has to be like this,” he said quietly. “Your family has a history with the mer almost as long as mine.”

In one swift motion, he knocked Derek out with the butt of the knife. Derek’s body flopped forward, folded over his lap.

Scott flinched and the Sheriff yelled.

Braeden casually announced that they were “taking him” as she sauntered over to bind Derek’s arms behind his back.

“You’re acting like pirates,” the Sheriff said.

Argent sheathed his knife. “Ask your son. We  _ are _ pirates.”

Then his stance relaxed.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he told the Sheriff. “But right now, we should all be focused on finding the princess. Missing girl, if you will.”

He requested that the Sheriff mobilise sea patrol to document all vessels in the area. Even so, he admitted, it would be a long shot. The Eichen was likely floating somewhere in the open ocean, the crew travelling in small, seemingly harmless rowboats. Argent and his crew would have to sail around searching for them. He promised to inform the Sheriff’s department if and when they found Lydia. Meanwhile, the police should detain any of the men if they were still around on land.

Stiles watched as the pirates prepared to leave the lighthouse, Derek’s body hefted over Braden’s shoulder like a Neanderthal. Chris Argent had one foot out of the door when the words tumbled out of Stiles’ mouth.

“I’m going too.”

Six heads turned towards him. Usually, he would be uncomfortable with all the attention, but there was a strong pull in his gut, telling him he needed to follow these people. And Stiles was never one to ignore his instincts.

He cleared his voice and repeated, loud and clear, “I’m going to find Lydia.”

Isaac looked amused, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline (which okay, wasn’t saying much because his curly hair pretty much hung over his eyes, but.) Argent was eyeing Stiles skeptically.

Allison, surprisingly, stood up for him. “He found Lydia when she first surfaced,” she reasoned. “If she trusted him enough to stay with him, then he should be allowed to join us if he wants. Plus, the Eichen crew outnumber us. We could use an extra pairs of hands.”

“I’ll go too,” Scott chimed in. The corner of Allison’s lips quirked upwards.

Stiles turned to his father, whose brow was creased. Stiles knew his dad was still trying to wrap his head around everything. He was not ready to let his son (and the boy who was practically his second son) run off on some maritime adventure. But Stiles could not sit around just waiting for Lydia to be found. He needed to be out there, looking for her.

Anxious energy buzzed under his skin. He was physically restraining himself from bouncing on his feet, or wringing his hands.

“I have to find her, dad,” he pleaded.

His father sighed heavily. He did not seem surprised nor disapproving, only tired. His lower lip quivered, as if trying to speak but not knowing what words to say.

“Please,” Stiles begged, his voice a near-whisper. “If she d- if something happened to her, I would go out of my freaking mind.”

Finally, the Sheriff relented.

“Take care of each other, okay?” he told the boys.

Stiles nodded, and he imagined Scott doing the same. And then his feet were moving on their own accord. His father met him halfway, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“I’ll see you soon,” Stiles promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes tear* I love Stilinski hugs
> 
> I am raspberrylimonade on tumblr and stlnskissmartin on twitter!


	11. the gathering storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys and pirates prepare for battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update just in time for stydia week.
> 
> This chapter turned out to be way longer than I thought it would be, and editing it took more time as well. The final scene was one of the first I envisioned when I first started planning this story, and it feels like such a milestone now that it is finally published. I hope you like it.

On the third day, Scott had suggested returning to Beacon Villa to retrieve fresh sets of clothes. Argent told them it would not be necessary.

“The Maid has everything you need,” he claimed.

Everything, it turned out, was whatever clothing former inhabitants of the caravel _The Maid of Gevaudan_ had left behind. After much perusal, the two boys settled on a pair of matching shirts that once belonged to a pair of twins.

Isaac hid a smirk in his shoulder when they emerged from below deck. Stiles bit back a comment about the scarves the other boy always seemed to wear. Beacon Villa was never too hot or too cold, thanks to the ocean. Besides, the weather was relatively nice today considering the rain they had been getting since Lydia washed up on shore;  it was overcast, but not raining. The wind was only a light breeze, as mild as it got on the open water. Stiles wondered how Isaac survived living at sea all this time if he had to bundle up at the slightest chill.

Damn Scott, for making Stiles promise to be civil. _They’re helping us find Lydia,_ he had said, and Stiles had relented because 1. he could not say no to Scott’s wide puppy dog eyes and 2. he would do whatever it took to find Lydia. If whatever meant dealing with Isaac’s annoying face, so be it.

Still, he really, really wanted to sock the guy sometimes. It wasn’t as if Isaac didn’t enjoy watching Stiles get his ass handed to him. Chris and Allison had been teaching Stiles and Scott some fighting techniques - cutlass swords and all. Scott was picking up the technique slowly and steadily while Stiles was picking up his ass from the floor. Isaac never bothered to hide him amusement regarding the latter.

Fortunately, there was someone on the ship Stiles could get along with. Deaton, with his gentle voice and placid demeanor, seemed out of place on a ship stocked with weapons. He called himself an advisor, and Stiles could see why. The man had a collection of transcripts that could have rivalled the Hale’s. It was impressive how he had amassed most of them himself. He was patient and answered Stiles’ never-ending questions about the mer and marine lore.

He was also a healer. He was once a veterinarian at a marine biology but now served as a medic for the pirates and the occasional injured merperson.

The man was poring over a large parchment scroll, hands braced against his dark wooden desk, when Stiles stumbled into the small office-cum-library. At first, Stiles thought it was just a drawing of a winged mermaid. It was only when he stepped closer did he notice the intricate, disturbing details.

The mermaid’s feathery wings were dripping blood onto the rocks she perched on. Her scales were tapered like arrowheads, whereas Laura’s were rounded. Her fingers ended with claws, and her open mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

“It’s a siren,” Deaton explained. “In it’s true form, at least.”

“Lydia said they pretend to be mermaids,” Stiles recalled.

“That is their most common disguise, yes,” Deaton confirmed. “As such, the two are often confused, sometimes even considered a single species. The mer prefer the open ocean whereas sirens tend to stay in channels, like the ones southeast of us. Easier to trap their victims.”

Stiles studied the siren’s expression in the picture. The way her lips were parted, she could have been singing opera or wailing loudly.

“Lydia and Scott found a manuscript that mentioned this thing called the ‘siren’s scream’,” he started. “Have you heard of it?”

Deaton kept his head down and kept quiet, which told Stiles that the answer, whatever it was, was not good.

“Unfortunately yes,” the man said finally. “It is an example of a misattribution between sirens and mermaids. I imagine that text used ‘siren’ and ‘mermaid’ interchangeably. A siren’s voice, while deadly, is in fact not very loud, and cannot travel very far. The mermaid’s scream, however, is a powerful force.”

“You sound like it has happened before.”

“It has,” Deaton said grimly. “You see the remnants of the last one today, in the place known as the petrified forest.”

The dead reef. The coral had been killed by the oil spill resulting from an exploding barge. Dead sea animals were washing up for weeks. The wreckage was so bad that coast guard had been unable to identify the ship. Only a body with half a head blown off had been found. Optimists believed some of the crew survived and were picked up by the nomadic seafarers. Pessimists believed they were all blown to smithereens.

“No one knows what triggers the scream,” Deaton went on. “It is a detail the historical records have failed to report. What we do know is what happened here. The mer who screamed had been held captive by poachers.”

Stiles felt a sinking feeling in his gut. “You think Lydia might let out a scream,” he said hoarsely.

“And kill herself and everything around her,” Deaton added.

“Which is why we _will_ find her,” a steely voice chimed in. Stiles looked up to see Allison in the narrow doorway. Scott was barely visible behind her. Both their foreheads glistened with sweat, indicating they had been hanging back to practice more sword-fighting.

“Not just because she is the princess, but because it is our duty. We may be pirates, but those of use here swore ourselves to a higher code. We protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

* * *

 

Lydia could protect herself.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t miss the iridescence of her scales, but legs were really good for fighting with.

Derek had the honor of being the first person she’d ever kicked. Lydia cursed herself for not paying attention. She had been so distracted by the bag of _clothes_ (those things that walkers put on their bodies were lovely and warm, and they came in all shapes and colours. Lydia couldn’t help being fascinated) that she had failed to notice the signals - Derek’s strange behaviour, the fact that the hut was so far from town that he couldn’t have arrived that early coming from the forest, how he insisted on walking down to the beach to meet Scott.

When she’d spotted the first Orderly, she twisted out of Derek’s grip and bolted. He quickly caught up with her, and when he tried to grab her, Lydia had acted without thinking. The next thing she knew, her foot was bouncing off Derek’s thigh. He had been so stunned that he didn’t pursue her again. By then, though, the poachers had converged on the two, and they hauled Lydia away, screaming and kicking.

They called their ship the _Eichen_ , though the word  _Liberty_ could still be faintly made out along the hull. Lydia thought it was ironic.

They asked about the mer and of supposed treasures she wasn’t even sure existed. She spoke back to them at first, haughtily criticising their appearances whenever they questioned her. For a moment, Princess Lydia had returned. Eventually though, the poachers stopped being amused by her fiery act, and then the torture started. After that, she kept her lips sealed. She would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her in pain.

They kept her in a dank, windowless cell below deck. Lydia had no way to tell time if not for the crew’s routines. Each orderly followed a different routine, but all of them had the same few components: sleep, eat, steer, and deal with Lydia.

The ways of they ‘dealt with’ her were varied. The woman called Cross, for example, was in charge of giving Lydia her rations, but usually taunted her. Once she tried to force-feed Lydia _coffee,_ a dark, black water with a strong smell. When the girl resisted, Cross grabbed her chin and dumped the hot, evil-looking substance over her face. Then she went back to denying Lydia her food, since Lydia evidently didn’t want to eat. (She wasn’t wrong; Lydia didn’t dare consume anything those people had touched.)

Then there was Schrader, who poked and prodded her with needles. They left Lydia in a state of disarray, and her skin would burn after. Somehow, Lydia was able to fight through the haze just enough to reply to his questions with non-answers. After a while, he would sigh and inform her that she gave him no choice.

There were two men who were just there for muscle. They were the ones who had dragged Lydia from the hut. At this point, one of them would step in and drag Lydia out of her cell, and beating her down when she tried to break away. The first day, she managed to run up to the deck before they caught her and threw her to the ground. The second day, they were prepared - muscle #1 guarded the stairway to the deck while muscle #2 grabbed Lydia. Today, it was muscle #2’s turn to guard the stairway while muscle #1 herded Lydia to the cellar - and Brunski.

Brunski was the worst of them all. As a mermaid, Lydia had heard his name uttered in fear. He was notorious for collecting scales, prying them off mer’s tapestries himself. He could not take Lydia’s scales, but the fact did little to discourage him. He had an odd contraption, a bulkier, more worn out version of what Stiles and Scott had used to play their music. Except that instead of music, his device emitted screams - the screams of mer whose scales he had removed. They made her head throb, like a giant nail being driven into the side of her head. When Lydia didn’t provide the answers he wanted, Brunski would turn up the dial.

It was only after she’d been thrown back in her cell that Lydia realised her nose had started bleeding. With a start, she realised there might have been a truth to the ‘siren’s scream’.

When they left her alone, Lydia found her mind wandering. She thought about Princess Lydia, who captivated the whirl with her beauty and controlled it with a sharp tongue, who became an outcast in her own kingdom. She thought about how different she had been since surfacing, quiet and reserved. She wondered if that was who she truly was under her princess armour, or if it was part of the transition to becoming human. It was if being amongst walkers had made her softer, more amorphous, melted down and she had not yet solidified in her new shape.

She thought about walkers and the strange but delicious food they ate called butter. She thought of their books and music and dancing under the glittering sky. Most of all, she thought about Stiles. She thought of his bright eyes and gentle voice and warm hands. He had gone to all those lengths to help her, no questions asked. (Okay, maybe there had been more than a few questions, but he still stood by her.) only for her to wind up like this anyway. She wondered if she would ever see him again, hear his voice. Part of her wanted to, the other part hoped he had the sensibility to move on with his life and never have anything to do with this cursed ship. Little did she know…

* * *

 

The sea was still choppy, the night sky masked by clouds, but it felt fairly calm to Stiles. Of course, it was easy for him to say, holed up in Deaton’s office. The room was lit by a single fixed lamp that emitted a warm, orange light. Because it was fixed and not hung, the shadows did not move as the boat swayed, allowing one to ignore the movements of the ship being rocked by the sea.

The sagely man had retired to his even smaller private quarters for the night, as with most of the others. Only Scott and Isaac remained in the galley, conversing in low voices. The two had somehow hit it off.

As for Stiles, he was reading about poachers. The book Deaton gave him was a stereotypical _old_ book - thick and hand-bound, with mottled yellowing pages and faded text. Where the ink was still readable, the language style was unusual and probably dated. It was headache-inducing and hard to understand, but Stiles stared at it anyway. He was trying to understand the poachers, learn about their kind, get inside their heads so he knew who they were up against.

Deaton told him that poachers and pirates had similar roots but different understandings of the mer. Pirates saw merpeople as a civilization, people that could be bartered with, or even worked with. Poachers saw commodities and experimental subjects. Some stories said poachers were pirates gone rogue, others claimed it was the other way around, and pirates were poachers who realised the horror of what they were doing. They were labelled pirates because they looted poacher’s ships to liberate their spoils, such as scales.

Stiles scowled at the jar of scales. Deaton had placed them on one of his shelves. Any other time, Stiles might have found the objects fascinating, but now, all he could think about was that it should have been Lydia there instead of those pieces of...what were scales made of? Metal? Keratin?

He did not get to ponder much longer because there was a sudden blow to his head. Stiles blacked out, and when his vision returned, he found himself sprawled on the floor. As he blinked the dark spots out of his eyes, saw feet dart across the room.

His instinct was to get up and give chase. However, his head throbbed and vision blacked out again the moment he tried to stand, and he ended up crashing into Deaton’s table with a yell, knocking a chair over in the process.

He finally righted himself, with much effort and a little help from Scott, who had suddenly appeared at his side and was asking Stiles what happened.

“It’s Derek,” Stiles wheezed. The sound of boots pounding up the stairs from the galley told him that the rest of the crew had caught on to as much.

Stiles groaned and brought a hand to the back of his - _ow,_ that felt awful. Scott leant down to pull up the fallen chair, and forced Stiles down into it. Together, they listened to the scuffling and dragging noises across the ceiling.

“I hate that guy,” Stiles muttered.

Chris Argent eventually appeared in the door of the study. He looked past the two boys straight to where the jar had been standing on the shelf and sighed heavily.

* * *

 

There is a time before dawn, where the sky is light but the sun has not yet risen, the world aglow with a deep, soothing blue. At this time, Derek saw a sliver of land silhouetted against the horizon. He turned the little boat and rowed in that direction, oars beating against the waves.

The beach must have been extremely flat. It seemed to disappear behind the crests of the waves, almost flickering out of existence. That alone would have made it seem far and out of reach, but soon Derek was able to make out a figure on the shoreline. He squinted, and the figure raised an arm. Its posture and the way it moved reminded him of -

“Mother?”

Derek blinked in the low light. He doubted three days tied up on a ship deck could have made him delirious. No, it must be her.

He thought he could hear her voice in her head, which should have been impossible at that distance, but he couldn’t find it in himself to not believe it was her. She was chanting, _You found us, you did it, welcome home._

He did not notice the bird women on top of him until it was too late.

The first siren swooped in, clawed fingers aiming for Derek’s head. He ducked, forcing her to pass over him in a beating of wings, and when he looked up, the vision was gone. There was no mother, no land, only endless sea.

The sirens circled in the air above him, taking turns to attack. Their sharp claws sliced at his skin, and one even gave him a whiplash when she smacked him across the head with her tail. He must have drifted into their territory, close enough to hear their song. He could still hear it echoing in his head, albeit more vicious now. _You found us._

He beat another siren down, sending her straight into the water. However, with a beat of her tail and push from her wings, she was launching herself at Derek again, hissing as she went. Derek dodged and grabbed her wing in an attempt to throw her into the sea again. This time, however, he got the momentum wrong. The siren tumbled across the boat, knocking into the jar. Derek dived for it, but in vain. The glass broke, scattering the scales over the floor of the boat. Not a moment later, the winged woman had rolled over the end of the boat. The boat tipped over, bringing Derek along with it.

He must have passed out from the cold shock, because the next thing Derek registered was blinking his eyes open, only to be met with darkness. Looking up, he saw the shape of his capsized boat against the dim but slowly brightening sky. His limbs were numb, but he forced himself to kick upwards. His first gulp of air upon surfacing burned his lungs. He reached for the boat and noticed the deep, white scars along his arms, a sign that he must have lost more blood than he’d thought. With one last burst of energy, he hauled his upper body across what was once the bowled base of the rowboat and promptly collapsed.

As the first rays of sunlight broke the horizon, Derek let himself drift off into unconsciousness while his boat drifted aimlessly, not knowing if he would open his eyes again.


	12. storm surge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to karolina (mieczyslyds) - happy birthday, girl! For those who don't know, she's the one who came up with the idea of mermaid Lydia wearing Stiles' stud muffin shirt.
> 
> Does anyone feel like the chapters are getting longer? I certainly do. Anyway Stiles and Lydia FINALLY reunite in this chapter!

On the morning of the fourth day, the two muscles barrelled into the cell as Cross was “feeding” Lydia breakfast. Both ladies looked up, with surprise or annoyance. As they brought upstairs, it occurred to the girl that the ship was moving. In addition, there was a loud noise clanging like a toll bell. The air was still misty, dampening her already limp hair. Lydia’s eyes widened when she saw where they were bringing her to.

“No, no, _no!”_

Her head shook wildly as she twisted and strained against the grip of her ushers, digging her bare heels into the slippery wooden planks of the deck. She never struggled with such desperation and fervour before, flailing out as the men tried to subdue her. Even Schrader, who had been leaning against the side of the ship, was surprised by her outburst. Suddenly, a cry pierced through the fog. It reverberated in Lydia’s skull, giving her a headache so intense, so painful that she fell to her knees and doubled over, hands clamped over her ears.

She did not notice when the screaming had stopped. Nevertheless, she was so shaken that when Brunski grabbed her by the back of her shirt, she was unable to put up a fight.

Back home, mers would whisper about the _Eichen_ and its masthead, as if if they spoke about it out loud, the gruesome tale would come true. Word had it that it was the first mermaid - Lydia’s grandmother, or mer-grandmother at least, who had disappeared when Lydia was too young to remember - with a bell around her neck, warning all ships and creatures of the boat’s arrival. Now Lydia knew, it was true.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut as they approached the masthead, hearing the rattling of bones as Brunski pulled the skeleton aside. Still in no condition to resist, she felt him push her until her back was pressed against cold, damp wood, seeping through her outfit. Damp ropes - or it could have been a large net - were thrown around her, binding her tight against the mast. Something rough and wet grazed against her left side, sending a shiver down her spine. Lydia cracked an eye open just to be sure, and immediately wished she hadn’t. _Bones._

A cold laughter sounded next to her ear, drowning out the ominous tone of the bell on her other side.

“Powerful, isn’t it? The queen’s voice,” the man taunted. “She begged and begged not to hurt anyone else - you especially - but in the end, it was her screamed that killed them all.”

He tapped his foot on a device at the base of the mast, a grey, metallic contraption similar to the one in his room. Lydia’s blood froze when she understood.

Before the _Eichen_ , there was the _Benefactor,_ the original ship for Brunski and his sadistic gang. It was on that ship where he had captured many merfolk and took their scales, recording their pain so he could listen to them over and over again. The crew had been forced to leave that ship because -

“A recording isn’t as powerful as the real siren’s scream, I suppose,” Brunski went on. “But don’t worry. You’ll die slowly. And those pesky pirates will watch.”

* * *

They heard the bell before they saw the ship, charging out of the horizon. It was Scott who heard it first, when it had just been an echo in the distance. Argent, Allison, Isaac and Braeden had all stiffened the moment they picked up on it too, and had been on edge ever since.

Deaton had to explain it to Scott and Stiles privately. Only one ship announced itself with a bell - the _Eichen,_ house of the Orderlies - the most notorious poachers in the area, perhaps in all the seas. If there was anyone to have gotten their hands on Laura Hale in the first place, it was them.

“What would they do to her?” Stiles asked worriedly. “Lydia?”

Deaton’s brows creased, the closest hint of emotion Stiles had seen from the man. “I do not know. I doubt pulling people’s scales was the only thing a man like Brunski did. What concerns me the most - ”

He looked up and stared straight into Stiles’ eyes, imploring him to understand the gravity of what he was about to say (as if Stiles weren’t freaking out enough himself already, was he doing that good a job at appearing calm? His heart was pounding. He felt like pacing. His fingers itched to pull his hair out.)

“ - is that the mermaid who gave the last siren’s scream? She did so at their hands.”

* * *

 On the starboard side, Isaac was perched on a wooden crate, peering through a spyglass with one eye squinted shut. Stiles marched up to him. “Any sign of Lydia?”

“No, but they could be keeping her below. I only see two guys on top...wait, someone’s coming...”

He began adjusting the spyglass, but Stiles could not wait. He budged the scarfed boy aside and grabbed the instrument. Bringing it up to his eye, he saw the blurred shape of the _Eichen_ in a circle of pale blue. Upon focusing it, he could make out the shape and sails of the brig. He could pick out movement at the front of the ship and twisted the body of the spyglass to see further. The zoomed in image was not very sharp, but he spotted the bright red-gold of Lydia’s unmistakable hair.

Blood pounded in his ears when he realised what they were doing to her.

“She’s there,” he said darkly. “They’re tying her to the masthead.”

Braeden swore under her breath. “That means we can’t fire long distance. We have to go to them.”

“Actually, I think they’re coming to us,” Isaac put in, looking through the spyglass again.

“And we won’t wait around,” Chris Argent decided. He cocked a long rifle that Stiles noticed he carried along with his own sword. “We’ll meet them head on.”

Allison raised her crossbow, saluting. Scott gripped the handle of his sword. Isaac turned back to face the group, not hefting his own weapon, but his face set nonetheless. Braeden cocked her hip, and Stiles noticed that she too carried a gun - several small pistols, in fact - besides her sword and a couple of knives.

“Right,” he said. “Do I get a gun?”

Braeden gave him a once-over, then fixed him with a look that said, _Are you serious?_

“I’m not giving you a gun.”

Stiles clasped his hands flat together and pointed them forward like an arrow, sweeping it between Argent and Braeden. “You have guns. Those guys probably have guns. I should have a gun.”

“That’s why we trained you to use a sword.”

“Yeah but have you seen me?”

Braeden heaved a loud, exasperated sign. She pulled a pistol from her belt and checked its lock and firing mechanisms. Then, without warning, she tossed it to Stiles. Naturally, he fumbled. The pistol clattered to the floor by his feet. Stiles stared at it, then looked up. Scott and Allison were both wincing. Isaac looked like he was holding back laughter. Argent was pointedly looking away. Braeden looked unimpressed.

Stiles swallowed awkwardly. “I probably shouldn’t have a gun.”

* * *

“Incoming! Two o’clock!” Schrader yelled.

Lydia blinked her eyes open. No wonder she had dozed off - the silver sails of the _Maid of Gevaudan_ were suddenly fluttering a lot closer than when Lydia had last peaked at them, her one glimmer of hope. With another ship so close, the orderlies must have been readying themselves for an imminent fight, leaving Lydia alone for the time being.

Of course it would be the _Maid_. They were one of the few walkers that the mer - just the Queen’s court, really - spoke with on good terms. They assisted in returning stolen artefacts and searching for missing (read: taken) people.

The caravel came in just a click to the right, colliding with a force that shook the entirety of the _Eichen._ Lydia barely had a moment to look at the faces of the newcomers when she had to shut her eyes, bracing against the impact. The body of the mast rattled against her back from the impact.

It may have appeared that the _Maid_ had been aiming for a head-on collision and missed, but Lydia soon figured that they might have been avoiding it. If they had come in from twelve o’clock - straight ahead - Lydia would have been crushed into oblivion.

The angle of the impact had stalled both ships moving forward, but now they swerved towards each other, carried by momentum, their hulls grinding together. Lydia felt like she was being swung from the end of the long pole. The world blurred around her. Somewhere behind her, a battle cry went out, shortly followed by thudding on boots landing on the deck, and the metallic clash of swords.

_“Lydia!”_

Above the sounds of chaos, one voice caught her attention, a voice that she had only known for a few days but yet already felt so familiar. Lydia’s head snapped up, and her vision tunneled. Standing on the side of the _Maid of Gevaudan_ was none other than Stiles.

Lydia gaped in disbelief. How was he here? Her heart was pounding with both relief and fear - relief that he had found her, and fear that he would now get hurt.

She watched in a daze as Stiles crawled along the railing of the _Maid,_ waiting for the ships to grind together at just the right angle to scramble over. Soon, he was right before her, hands hovering as he gaped at her as she did him, both of them taking the other in.

Finally, one of his large hands cupped her cheek, gently turning her head to the side. Guided by the pads of his trembling fingers, Lydia suddenly noticed that warm liquid had pooled in her ears.

Her gaze flickered back to Stiles’ face just in time to see a shadow pass over his features. For a moment, Stiles had shifted from the boy who looked at her like she was the greatest treasure in all the seas to a pirate who would have killed on her behalf. Was he a pirate now? He had somehow joined the _Maid,_ and was even dressed in a buttoned-up shirt with billowing sleeves. Though, Lydia noted, he still wore his worn striped sneakers.

Then his face softened again, his eyes bearing into hers with so much _care_ that Lydia could have melted right there and then.

_Lydia,_ read his lips. If he had spoken out loud, she didn’t hear him over the sounds of the battle behind them. Something sailed past them and skidding along the abandoned deck of the _Maid,_ but neither of them could take their eyes away from each other.

Stiles glanced down to study her binds, and his heart nearly burst out of his chest. In the time since he had left the hut and before Derek had turned her in, Lydia had changed her outfit. Her frame was now swamped in the T-shirt she had been eyeing the last time he saw her - _his_ ‘stud muffin’ T-shirt.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said dumbly. Then he remembered himself and fumbled to undo the twisted net wound around her.

Lydia glanced down at herself and started to stutter. Stiles decided to save them both the embarrassment and make a joke. “I guess you don’t need the dress I bought then, huh?”

“You got a dress for me?” Lydia stared up at him, her large, green eyes shining.

“Yeah, I said I would, didn’t I?” Stiles replied. He pulled most of the net off her and quickly moved to the separate piece of rope that bound her wrists. “You’ll get to wear it too. We’re going to get you out of here okay?”

He dodged as he undid the final knots, pieces of debris missing his head by mere inches. Lydia flinched at the sight.

“You shouldn't be here,” she told him. “It’s too dangerous.”

Stiles flung the rope into the sea with a final huff. “Lydia, please shut up and let me save your life.”

He pulled her into his arms and together, they stumbled into the fray.

Almost immediately, they were welcomed by a _crack!_ followed by the sound of a bullet embedding itself in the wooden masthead. Both of them ducked, Stiles pretty much shoving Lydia under his body. He hadn’t thought about it, just acted on pure instinct.

They darted past Allison as she ripped the offending gun out of the hand of a burly orderly twice her size.

“She’s good,” Lydia noted. The dark-haired girl must have heard her, because her eyes flickered over to the two clinging figures, her lips quirking into a small smile. A split second later, she was stalking off to help Isaac, murder written on her face.

“Scary good,” Stiles agreed, briefly recalling the multiple ways Allison had disarmed and manhandled him in his pirate fighting crash course. Scott might have been attracted to that, but not Stiles.

Stiles tightened his arm that had somehow wrapped around Lydia’s waist, holding her flush against him, and guided her forward a few more steps. A tall man with a malicious grin stepped in front of them, his curved sword raised. Lydia cowered, backing into Stiles. Stiles glanced at her and then stared up at the man. His lips curled into a snarl. That man had done something to Lydia.

The man took a step towards them, and Stiles stuck his chin up defiantly, bracing himself. His own sword hung at his side but with both his hands around Lydia, he could not retrieve it on time.

Lydia shifted in his arms and Stiles saw a flash of pale skin. Stiles thought she had flinched, but suddenly the advancing man was doubled over, face contorted in pain. It then registered with Stiles that Lydia had kicked the man straight in the nuts. Stiles looked down and saw that Lydia’s cared and bewildered expression had hardened into something fiercer.

_Holy crap, this girl was amazing._

In the moment it had taken him to have his revelation, Brunski had recovered and was almost growling at them. He charged again, and Stiles figured this time they were really screwed, but suddenly, the orderly was knocked aside. His weapon clattered across the deck.

Scott stood over the man, his mouth set into a hard, determined line. His face was smeared with soot and grime. His hair was matted with sea spray. He had a large rip in his pants, revealing a cut in his thigh. He looked like a total badass, and Stiles thought it suited him.

Scott raised his head to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“Go!” he yelled, gesturing to where a lifeboat hung by the rail. “Get Lydia out of here!”

Then he kicked Brunski down when the man tried to get up again.

They regrettably separated when they got to the lifeboat. It had been tied on both ends, and splitting up to undo the ropes together was faster. Stiles took hold of his borrowed sword for the first time that day, attempting to hack through the material. It took his a few tries - the rope so thick and tough that Lydia was almost as fast as him undoing the knots by hand.

Lydia was quick to act. She was already throwing her body against the small boat in an effort to push it over the rail. She had looked so defeated when he first got to her, so drained from the hurt inflicted on her. Yet here she was firing on all fronts. She was so strong, so brave.

He had not realised he was staring until Lydia yelled his name. Her brow was creased with concentration. Her eyes pleaded him to help her. Stiles stepped forward to join her in hefting the boat, and yelped when a knife embedded itself in the rail barely a feet in front of him.

He glanced to the side instinctively, to see who was his attacker, but the deck was in chaos. Pirates and poachers moved back and forth. Swords met swords, items were thrown. Something somewhere was burning, the thick grey smoke curling between crates and people’s legs, making the scene almost a dream. Except that it wasn’t.

“Stiles!”

Lydia called his name again, and this time Stiles managed to join her. They pushed the lifeboat up against the side of the ship and heaved, hefting it off the floor. Stiles jammed his thigh underneath both to find a more grounded position, and to prevent the boat from slipping down again. He grit his teeth and threw his whole body weight against the small wooden vessel. Next to him, Lydia did the same, and the boat tipped over the railing, one end first then the other.

Lydia slumped against the rail, panting heavily. Lifting the lifeboat must have taken a huge effort from her. Stiles was all over her in an instant, simultaneously pulling her to her feet and trying to lift her into the boat, which now dangled over the water from a simple pulley.

“Go, go go!”

Lydia began to rise to her feet, only to have Stiles shove her down, throwing his body over hers. There was a sound of bullets burying into wood. Through Stiles’ flailing limbs, Lydia saw someone from the _Maid_ pounce on Schrader, grappling for his pistol.

“C’mon Lydia,” Stiles muttered, hauling her up again. With his help, she managed to scramble over the rail and dropped into the small wooden boat. Another shot rang out and she ducked again, pressing herself to the floor of the boat. Her heart skidded when Stiles’ head disappeared below the other side of the rail. But he recovered almost immediately this time, which made her believe the shot had just been misfired as the smoking gun was wrested for.

Stiles swung his legs over the rail and landed in the boat. His sword, which had been tossed aside moments ago, was now in his hand again. He sliced through one side of the pulley and they dropped towards the sea, screaming all the way down.

Miraculously, the boat did not shatter upon impact with the water. It tipped dangerously towards Lydia’s end, and for a moment Stiles expected them to capsize, but then a wave crashed into them, righting the boat.

Stiles felt his bones shaking from the movement, and heard something heavy knocking against the wood as it too was thrown around. Diving towards Lydia, he found an old, rudimentary motor under a plank that he supposed was meant for sitting. Without thinking, he aimed the long exhaust pipes towards the _Eichen_ and threw the body of the motor down on the seat, collapsing on top of it.

“Lydia! Pull the string!”

“The what?” she screeched. Right, she had probably never seen a motor in her life.

“Pull it!” Stiles yelled again, using his knee to knock against the cord. Lydia got the idea. She wrapped both hands around the handle and jerked her whole body backwards. The motor shuddered beneath Stiles’ weight and roared to life. Lydia shrieked as the boat jerked sideways and shot away from the two ships.

They had gotten maybe fifty feet away when the flashbang arrows were fired. They burst against the mainmast of the _Eichen_ and exploded in a burst of white light that created spots on Stiles’ eyes even from that distance.

Seconds later, Stiles saw figures leap overboard and dive into the water. Stiles recognised Scott, long-jumping at least thrice his height to make it back to the retreating _Maid,_ the preferred option.

One heartbeat. Two. And then the _Eichen_ exploded.


	13. recede

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were safe...weren't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, here we are, almost at the end now. I just finished writing up the last chapters yesterday. It feels surreal.
> 
> This chapter was the hardest to write. It's supposed to be very emotional and I struggled with that, so I would really like feedback for this more so than anything else.
> 
> The following chapter will be really short, and then it will be the last! I can't believe the end is in sight. This will be the first multi-chaptered fic that I actually finish writing, so I'm also really excited.

Smoke and flames towered into the overcast sky, mixing with the grey clouds. In the carnage, the shadow of a broken hull appeared. The _Eichen_ groaned and slowly began to sink. Stiles killed the puttering motor and slumped over it. His exhaled audibly, adrenaline leaving his body as did his breath.

Something soft brushed against his fingers. Adjusting his head, Stiles saw that Lydia had slipped her hand into his. The girl was still staring at the burning ship, grimly captivated by the collapse of her former prison. All to be left of it was their little lifeboat, the small letters spelling _L.I.B.E.R.T.Y._ defiantly stamped on the inner wall in fading ink.

Small shapes appeared out of the floating carnage. Stiles recognised Braden and Chris Argent when they got closer. Their heads bobbed along the water surface as they swam. Argent veered towards Braeden, and must have called out to her. Stiles watched her strong strokes pause as she faced her leader.

“ - must have jumped out on the other side,” Braeden’s voice said, carried by the wind. “They were pretty far from me during the fight.”

“What about Scott?” Argent asked.

“Stiles!”

Scott’s voice sounded a lot closer to Stiles. Sure enough, the _Maid_ was sailing in from Stiles’ right. Scott was practically hanging over the rail, looking down at Stiles and Lydia.

Stiles pushed himself up with his free hand to get a better look at his best friend, and was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness. When he came to, he was lying on his back. An angel knelt over him, glowing red and gold tresses cascading over her shoulder, falling just short of his chest.

“Stiles!” It was Lydia who called his name this time, voice laced with panic. Her hand that had been holding onto his was still clutching tightly, the other was frantically trying to apply pressure to his stomach, right under his ribs.

Pain flared in his abdomen as the heel of her palm hit the wrong spot, digging the bullet further into his flesh. Stiles wheezed, and Lydia was immediately apologising profusely. She quickly retracted her hand and wiped the blood on her sea-soaked pants.

Somewhere above him, Scott was yelling his name. Stiles tilted his head up until he found the boy’s outline against the sky. The action made Stiles’ vision go white and fuzzy, and then Scott, too, was another angel, watching from above.

“It’s okay,” he managed. His voice was so weak, he was not sure if Scott could hear him, so he forced a smile onto his face. “I’m okay.”

His eyes drifted back to Lydia, seeking comfort in the fact that she was alive, shaken, but in one piece. That was all he cared about.

“You’re okay,” he told her.

It was all catching up to him now, how he had been shot. Isaac knocked the gun out of one of the poacher’s hands - scrawny guy with hooded eyes he had been. The gun fell to the deck. The man who Scott had taken on earlier, the one Stiles had been plotting in the back of his mind to kill for traumatising Lydia, dived for it and fired off a shot. He was probably aiming for Lydia, making a last-ditch attempt to stop her from leaving his clutches as she climbed into the lifeboat. He hit Stiles instead. The initial impact hurt like a bitch, but in that moment Stiles wasn’t focused on himself. He was focused on Lydia, and how they were just one step away from helping her escape.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Stiles was suddenly aware of the small lump of metal in his flesh. Oh god, there was an actual bullet in his body. He’d been shot, he had lost tons of blood, he was going to die here without seeing his father again…

“Stiles!”

He did not realise he how dazed he was until Lydia’s voice jerked him back into a state of clarity. The girl was shaking her head at him, her hand still clutching his tightly, her large eyes pleading with him to hold on.

He had. He held on long enough to get her to safety.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and breath evenly. It made the wound hurt marginally less.

Hints of static clouded his vision. He was feeling a little light-headed, even with the rocking of the boat by the waves. He must have lost more blood than he thought. His dark coloured shirt had disguised the wound, but also made it hard to tell how much blood he was losing.

“No, no, Stiles, look at me,” Lydia’s voice quavered. Her entire body was trembling now. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her lips pressed together like a dam holding back a wave of emotion.

“Lydia,” he whispered, squeezing her hand in return.

His eyelids were drooping, and in Lydia’s mind, if they were to slide shut, blocking out his golden irises, then the sun would have truly gone out. For now, he was still gazing at her like he did at the beach, and the lighthouse, when they had danced. Like she was _his_ sun breaking through the clouds, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

As if reading her mind, Stiles smiled at her. It was a bittersweet but gentle smile, not the pained one he’d tried to give Scott.

“You were the first girl I ever danced with.”

He wasn’t sure why he blurted that out. Maybe the blood loss was taking away all his sane thought, removing all his inhibitions.

The dam broke.

“No, no, nononono,” Lydia sobbed, hands cupping his pallid cheeks. “Stiles, stay with me.”

Stiles raised an arm weakly. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and Lydia realised she was crying.

“You look...really beautiful when you cry,” Stiles croaked.

“Don’t, Stiles, _don’t.”_

But Stiles let his head fall back and his eyes slide shut.

* * *

“Princess.”

_He shouldn’t have come for her._

“Princess Lydia.”

_He had no reason to help her at all._

“Lydia.”

_But he came looking for her._

“Lydia.”

Lydia sniffed and slowly raised her head from where she had been sobbing into Stiles’ chest. Without removing her arms from around his body, she looked around for who had called her. Up on the _Maid,_ Scott stared down at them, eerily still, a statue of despair. His ashen face was streaked with tears. Lydia imagined she looked the same.

Another man had joined him on the deck, taken one look at the scene, and bowed his head.

Lydia turned to the next figure, a bearded man treading the water five feet away.

She recognised him - Chris Argent, captain of the _Maid._ She had seen him once or twice when her mer-mother held court with the kingdom’s walker allies, although she herself had never been invited to join in. He had been clean-shaven the last time, appearing sharp and alert. Now his greying beard made him look tired and haggard.

“Lydia,” he said carefully. “There might still be a way to save him.”

_What? How?_ Lydia wanted to asked, but her lips only moved without speaking. She glanced down at Stiles’ lifeless body, his usually pale skin turned to an unnatural white. Brown moles dotted his face like the stars they had stood under together. It all seemed so long ago now.

He had been so kind.

_He died because of her._

“He was brave,” Chris Argent reasoned. “He protected you. They will salvage him.”

He looked up to Scott, and added, “If you wish.”

“Hey guys?” a new voice rang out.

All heads turned back towards the sinking ship. A new figure had appeared - another boy, about Stiles and Scott’s age, with long hair plastered all over his forehead. He was struggling to swim, for his arms were otherwise occupied -  they literally bore bad news.

It was the girl Lydia had seen, the one who had disarmed the orderly with a simple chain. Her dark hair spread out in the water like a halo, framing her serene face, pale like Stiles’, but for her lips that were painted bright red.

What little colour was left drained from Chris Argent’s face. He stopped treading and moved to float on his back, his limbs slowly spreading out as if they had gone numb.

“We were two on two,” the newcomer explained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and kept taking pauses to swallow, and Lydia felt her own lump growing in her throat as she listened to his thick voice. “She held them off and told me to get off first. She must not have made it in time.”

The old pirate closed his eyes and turned his head away, trying to hide his grief. Lydia realised then, that the girl had to be the Argent daughter she had heard of but never met. A heart-wrenching pain bubbled up inside her chest. She had only known Stiles for a handful of days, and she was already distraught. She could not imagine how it felt for the man to lose such a huge part of himself.

“Are you…?” The words slipped uncertainly out of her mouth.

Argent shook his head grimly. “We have our own traditions. And our family...I’m afraid we have done some things we are not proud of. But for him…”

His eyes travelled to Stiles again.

She knew what Argent was telling her to do. It had saved her mother, and her grandmother. There was no reason it would not save Stiles - he of all people deserved it now.

But, she also knew what saving Stiles meant, and that saving Stiles was not really saving him, not if it meant he would forget. He would forget Scott, his best friend, his father, whom he spoke of fondly. He would lose his memories of them, and Lydia knew that without memories, one would lose themselves. She could save Stiles, but could she save _him_ , really?

And there was that selfish part of her, a rising tide in her chest, roaring about how Stiles would forget her, and she would still lose him.

_But...he could remember. He would find a way to remember...wouldn’t he?_

“Do it.”

It was Scott, who up till then hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak. He wiped his face with the back of his wrist, then straightened.

“Stiles is my best friend,” he said. Lydia hated how he sounded like he was delivering an eulogy, except that he had said _is._ _Stiles_ is _my best friend._ As if nothing had changed. As if he dared to have hope.

“He’s my brother,” Scott continued, voice cracking. “He may be a little crazy sometimes, but he has a good heart.”

“I didn’t have any friends before Stiles. He didn’t care that I was no one. He made a sandcastle with me when no one else would. And when he said he would come to play with me again, he did. He came back. I guess that’s when I knew.”

“I know he would do anything to protect the people he cares about. If there was even only the slightest chance to save someone, he would. So, if there is a chance to save him, do it. He will come back to us.”

He stared straight at Lydia as he spoke his last line. They shared a long, sorrowful look, one which Lydia broke away from. She turned her gaze out to the sea, the place she had left. It seemed to beckon to her, lulling her into a state of trance, whispering in her ear to let Stiles go. Perhaps this was its way of reclaiming a life, having lost her.

_He will come back to us. He will remember._

He had shown her his world, now it was her turn to show him hers.

She looked back down at Stiles, resting peacefully against the edge of the boat. Emotions welled up inside her chest, grief, gratitude, adoration all rolled together, and underneath them all…

Lydia cupped his face again and slowly lowered her head to Stiles’ until their foreheads were touching. Her lips barely brushed his as she reached into her heart, searching for the right words.

“Just remember,” she whispered. “Remember I love you.”

And with that she leaned her body forward, letting her weight and Stiles’ tip over the boat and deliver them to the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC IS TAGGED 'ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING'
> 
> If anyone didn't guess, I was hit with a major bout of 6a feels while editing this chapter.


	14. the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even underneath the waves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a super short one so the final chapter will be up very very soon. I will be travelling on wednesday so I will post tomorrow or tuesday. Second to last chapter, can't believe it.

_ He wasn’t sure if he had even been asleep, he didn’t remember dreaming. All he knew was that he woke up from  _ something.

_ It was cold and dark. His limbs felt both heavy and light at the same time. He felt suspended, time moving slowly, as did he when he tried to move. The revelation was not alarming. In fact, he felt almost calm. _

_ He blinked once or twice in slow-motion, and the darkness faded away into a deep blue. It was still too deep to see in, but for a glowing circle of light right above him. _

_ Something - no, someone - appeared in the circle. It was a woman, slender with long hair swaying like a scarf behind her. Her silhouette was soft at the edge, blending into the glowing light. _

_ “Relax,” said the woman. “You are saved now.” _


	15. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one year later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The ending! I can't believe I have actually finished a multi-chaptered fic! I started writing this way back in 2015 I think, it's come a long way. I wanna give a big thank you to everyone who has been following this story. I'm really heartened by all the comments and I'm so glad to have shared this with you all.
> 
> One last time, this was loosely based off Lorali by Laura Dockrill.

_One year later_

“You ready?”

Lydia nodded at the Sheriff. She sat in the back of his cruiser without leaning against the black leather seats. She hoped he did not see her trembling hands as she buckled herself in.

The skirt of her dress was tucked neatly under her thighs, the white fabric dotted with small red and pink flowers. The silver flats Scott had given her when they first met adorned her feet. Her hair was styled in tumbling waves, courtesy of Melissa. The woman had also given touches of colour to Lydia’s eyelids and lips.

Lydia wasn’t sure why she wanted to dress up. She enjoyed it, yes, but she had felt a need to do so for today of all days. Maybe she wanted to show that she had grown into something good, or so she hoped. Maybe she wanted to hide, because she was not sure she was ready.

Natalie Martin once lived near the sea, but moved inland roughly seventeen years ago. She now resided in a small rural village on the outskirts of Beacon County. They drove through rolling hills covered in wild grass. It was late autumn, the landscape was painted in muted greens and browns. Lydia stared out of the car window and watched the scenery as they passed.

The countryside eventually gave way to small, hutch-like houses and narrow side roads, then larger clusters of homes along, and finally terraces with small shops along gravel streets. The cruiser came to a stop outside a small Cape Cod style terrace unit with white shiplap panels and a steep, grey-blue roof that reminded Lydia of the sea.

This was it.

The Sheriff - _Mr Stilinski,_ Lydia had to remind herself - twisted in his seat to give Lydia a reassuring smile. “Let’s go.”

They exited the car without anymore words spoken, and Mr Stilinski hurried around the car to guide Lydia to the front door. His hand hovered on her back, the action hitting Lydia with a punch of painful familiarity.

He had tried to get her to call him by his first name, but it hadn’t felt right to Lydia. _Hi Noah, your son died saving me, a girl he just met, because we had some kind of unspoken connection. And I sank his body at sea so he could become a mermaid, like me, formerly. Also, I loved him._

Lydia inhaled deeply, clearing her thoughts. Right now, she had to focus on what was in front of her.

Stilinski finally released Lydia to ring the doorbell, then he took two steps back so he was standing a respectable distance behind Lydia, far enough to give her space but close enough so she knew she had his support.

The white door swung open to reveal a woman not much taller than Lydia herself. She had the same green eyes, and had red hair too though hers was shoulder-length hair and a deeper shade, and was wearing a floral three-quarter sleeved top.

“Oh honey,” the woman breathed, and scooped Lydia into a hug.

Lydia found herself at a loss for words, or actions. She froze in place, awkwardly lifting her arms to place on the woman’s back.

Natalie Martin finally pulled away. Her hands took Lydia’s in their palms, gripping gently, as if any moment Lydia could slip away. Again.

“I - I never thought...” she said after gaping for a few moments. She angled her body into the hallway. “Do you want to come in?”

Lydia managed to nod. She stepped over the threshold, and then paused to turn back to the Sheriff.

“I’ll be right outside when you’re ready,” he informed both ladies, and began to back away, off the porch.

Lydia felt an odd sensation wash over her as the door closed, shutting the rest of the world from view. Now it was just her, and Natalie Martin.

Her _mother._

Natalie fluttered around, showing Lydia to a plush couch, before mumbling something about tea. Lydia was too busy taking in the woman’s living room to tell her that she didn’t drink tea, or anything that wasn’t water, for that matter.

There were vases by the window, trinkets on the mantle, framed prints on the wall. In another life, those could have been pictures of Lydia, small and running around on two feet. She could have grown up here, or at least, in a house akin to this.

She could have been Lydia _Martin_.

The fact was hard to wrap her mind around.

The clinking of cups on a tray signalled Natalie’s return.

“I should have been more prepared,” she was saying, hastily placing the cups on the table. “I am usually a better host. I just...when the sheriff contacted me...I couldn’t believe…”

She knelt in front of Lydia and placed a hand on the girl’s cheek, taking her in. Lydia studied her biological mother’s face, watching tears pool in the rims of the woman’s eyes before spilling out.

She wanted to say something, give the woman a reassuring smile, or some kind of response at least, but all she could do was stare. The reason why she had surfaced in the first place was to find her true parentage. Now that she had found it, she wasn’t sure what to do. It was like when she had first come on land all over again, she was disoriented, hadn’t thought about what she was going to do. It was unlike her to do so, and the feeling caught her off guard.

Natalie snivelled and made a hasty attempt to wipe her tears, but only smeared them across her cheeks instead.

“I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “I didn’t think I would be such a mess. I don’t know what to say.”

She paused, staring into Lydia’s eyes again with gratefulness and amazement. “I don’t even know what to call you.”

“L-Lydia,” Lydia stammered.

“Lydia,” the woman murmured. _“Lydia.”_

* * *

The sheriff dropped her off at the beach when they got back to Beacon Villa. The tip of the lighthouse was visible over the dunes.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Lydia asked him.

The man sighed. “Honestly, part of me is afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of what I might or might not find.”

Lydia nodded in understanding. Her heart had started pounding when they crossed back into Beacon Villa.

She visited the dead reef every day at sundown, then the scarp near the lighthouse. Sometimes Scott or the sheriff would accompany her, but they had their own ways of remembering. Most days, Lydia was on her own.

She dared not tell them she hoped to see a sign; she didn’t want to get their hopes up only to let them down. She did not know what the sign might even be.

It was a week ago, when Scott came to the realisation himself.

_“It’s been almost a year,” he said, joining Lydia in her room. Her room where she slept when she had first surfaced. Her room that used to be Stiles’._

_It was supposed to be Scott and Stiles’, when the former moved in with his mother, but it had been too painful for Scott, having the space without Stiles to share it with. He moved into what was previously the guest room instead, and Mr Stilinski and Melissa offered Stiles’ old room to Lydia._

_She did not make any changes to the room, not that she had any belongings to replace what Stiles already had. She preferred it this way, surrounded by the essence of Stiles and the remembrance of her first night here. She still had the same bed, with the same sheets. A part of her was holding out for the day Stiles would reclaim it._

_Scott perched on the edge of the mattress, his long legs easily touching the floor. They did that sometimes, her and Scott, sitting at the foot of Stiles’ bed, atop the washed-out blue sheets that neither Lydia nor Stiles’ father could bring themselves to change. Sometimes they talked, but they didn’t always._

_“Do you think he will…” Scott trailed off. Lydia turned to look at him, and found him staring at his hands._

_“Surface?”_

_The question hung in the air, unanswered. Lydia didn’t have an answer herself. Most of the mer did not return to the land even when they had regained their human memories. What if Stiles didn’t want to come back?_

_“I didn’t think that far. I didn’t dare to. If I did I’d…”_

Wouldn’t be able to handle anything else, _Lydia thought._

_“I was actually thinking, if he wanted to send us a message, he could go to the reef. Or, the ‘forest’ to him, I guess. Maybe you’ll find something.”_

_“I know,” Lydia replied. “I’ve been looking every day.”_

Anticipation rose in her chest as she headed down to the water, like a tide rising dangerously high. Today marked a year since Stiles had died. Today was his day of resolution. Today was the day, if any, that he remembered. Today, of all days, Lydia might see a sign.

If Stiles had even been salvaged, that was.

Scott firmly believed he had been. Lydia wasn’t sure he’d have been able to cope if he did not tell himself that.

Sand stuck between her toes as she wandered down to the water, her shoes left in the car. They were impractical anyway, for what she was about to do. She waded down the smooth side of the berm, leaving footprints in the damp sand. One or two joggers passed her, but the beach was otherwise empty. People did not hang out in that area because of the oil that still persisted.

Lydia wandered into the water and faced the oncoming tide. The breaking wave came up to her knees, soaking the hem of her dress. From here, she could see the rainbow glint of the oil patch.

She headed further out into the water, till she was soaked up to the waist. She waited for a large backwash to pull away from the shore, then plunged forward, letting the wave carry her forward.

Once she had gotten used to doing it with legs, Lydia was a very strong swimmer. She made it to the far end of the petrified forest in two strokes, carried by the outgoing current, and worked back from there. She had arrived a little late today, so the evening tide had already inundated most of the reef. Usually she could stand in the water, but today she had to tread, and dive underneath to see the forest in detail. That was only an inconvenience, for she could hold her breath well too.

Her eyes scanned the carvings in the shrivelled coral beds and the dead wood, looking over the years of exchanges between sea and land that were now familiar to her. Lydia had never encountered Carmine in the forest, and she was not sure she wanted to. She had read each of the girl’s last messages, though. They started out confused, then became worried, upset, angry, and finally defeated, not knowing why Derek failed to respond. Eventually, Carmine - or Paige, as she was known to the land - stopped writing, and Lydia figured she stopped coming to the reef altogether.

Scott told her what had happened to Derek, how the pirates took him prisoner but he escaped. On their way back to Beacon Villa, Chris Argent, Braeden, and even Deaton had scouted for him, but he was simply never heard of again.

Many days Lydia had felt like she should write back, but she never knew what to say. She had also thought of asking about Stiles, at least to see if he had been salvaged, but always hesitated. Besides, Carmine would not know Stiles as _Stiles,_ he would have been given a new name. At least, that was what Lydia told herself.

In the end, a few weeks after Carmine stopped writing in the forest, Lydia had carved a message on her own. _Thank you for the dress._ The swirling, concentric symbols of her old language reminded her of the skirt of said dress, that he had never gotten the chance to give to her himself, billowing out when she spun. It made her miss Stiles a little more each time she looked at it, miss the way he’d made her feel that night under the stars.

She rose to the surface to take a breath of air, careful not to get oil on her hair, before diving under again. She sought out the blocky shelf of limestone, spotting her own writing amongst the others, and her heart thudded when she noticed more marking below it - markings that had not been there the day before.

She kicked her feet swung her arms ina powerful diagonal stroke, diving deeper. The full reef bed came into view, the exposed limestone rising up above the branches of dead coral. Beneath her own message was a shorter one, its etchings shallow, hastily scratched into the chalk.

_I REMEMBER_

Lydia immediately pushed upwards, breaking the surface of the water with a huge gasp. Her vision swam with the blinding orange of the setting sun bouncing off the waves. She blinked in the light until she made out the pale yellow sands of the beaches, and the bluish skies towards the east. She breathed deeply, staring into the distance for a few moments, and then a tugging in her gut started pulling her towards the shore. She was panting like an animal, her eyes wide and bewildered, yet her paddles were strong and sure. She just _knew_ where to go.

The evening breeze blew-dry her soaked dress as she ran. By the time she reached the pier, the fabric was still damp, but no longer clung to her skin. The sun was almost dipping beneath the horizon now, turning the water gold, bathing the landscape in light. Lydia weaved between the thick barnacle-covered pillars and their long, imposing shadows. She made her way down to the waterline, then up the berm again. There she paused to catch her breath, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes against the low sun.

“Stiles?” she called.

Nothing, but the whispering of the waves caressing the beach.

Lydia turned slowly, facing the burning sunlight, letting its warmth wash over her face. She cast her eyes down to the lapping tides that beckoned to her, inviting her to wander in and sink like a stone, the way her heart was feeling.

Stiles was supposed to be here. She knew it. She had felt it.

At least, she thought she did.

Lydia shuffled out from under the pier and began to walk back home, kicking the sand at her feet as she went. She tried not to imagine Scott’s face or the sheriff’s when she returned.

Suddenly, all the guilt came rushing back. She had taken Stiles away by washing up on this very beach and accepting his help. She was the reason Stiles left and joined the _Maid_. She’d pushed his body into the sea before anyone could say goodbye to him, withholding from them their closure. She was the reason Stiles wasn’t with his family right now.

A particularly large wave crashed against the shore, the sound drawing Lydia’s attention once more. She looked over her shoulder at the pier one last time. Her eyes followed the rows of pillars as they led out to sea, towards -

\- the figure rising out of the glowing water. Lydia squinted, her body turning on its own volition to face the scene as her heart jump started in her chest.

Stiles stood knee-deep in the surf, bared for all the world to see. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat, not because of his nakedness, but because he was standing there, alive and breathing and fully surfaced, a tall, beautiful figure in the light. Stiles smiled at her in the endearing way he did, eyes warmer than the golden rays of the sun, the smile that used to make Lydia’s insides turn soft.

Lydia couldn’t help it. She surged forward, and Stiles stumbled two steps with his regenerated legs to meet her halfway. Lydia threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder. Stiles arms wrapped tight around her, his hands splayed across her back, pulling her even closer to him. The world could have gone up in flames and burned down all around them, and Lydia wouldn’t have cared. Stiles was _here,_ and that was all that mattered.

_He came back._

 

...


End file.
